Sunday, February 26, 2017

The sun came out

Trees are lined with light, looking like frozen fireworks. Stars sing on every branch and carelessly twinkle across the ground. Silver armor has its price: The trees groan instead of whisper, and pelt me with clear-ambered buds.

The sun hides behind a cloud, and in the afternoon's warm air the trees will throw down their spears of ice, but for a while there was a rare glory in the meadow.

3 comments:

Assistant Village Idiot said...

Having your hand at poetic images, eh? You aren't bad at it.

james said...

Thanks! The camera does not do the scene justice.

Ann Hammon said...

Not, bad, big brother. An excellent word-portrait, and may stay with me a while. Thanks.