threads of sky, loose
sleet bounces across the tin roof-
tears of ice
on my face.
the sleet colored sky
falls to earth-
gray on gray on gray.
The north wind shushes the sleet,
the lazy fall of fine snow
just dusting the cedar boughs.
And not so much
to weigh the afternoon down
or discouraging sounds
of the opinionated crows,
but just the right amount
to suggest the coming winter
and all its heavy lifting.
But not today-
today is the first glaze of ice
on the path
with just enough substance
to lay paw prints
of fox and hare
across the dimly lit day
as it drifts
with the cold north wind.
These astonishing whorls of ice are formed as the sap in the grasses and weeds freezes and bursts from the plant membranes to be squeezed into the frigid temperatures.
Due to our warm autumn, the plants had not gone completely dormant, so they were still filled with moisture. A perfect situation for the drop in temperature to cause these beautiful frost flowers to form.
Each is delicate and fragile. A mere touch can cause them to shatter. And a few moments of sun can cause them to just evaporate into the cold air.
ephemeral, delicate beauty
swirled from winters touch
to blossom in the cold morning air
morning has broken
early dawns light
fills the morning cove
calling the mists from the water
to rise with the sun
like the first morning
cover the morning meadow
fragments of the full frost moon
born of the one light
to the brightening sky
the cove stirs with
wild geese rising
Eden saw play
sound of baby’s laughter
fills the early morning air
joy rises with the sun
Morning Has Broken
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the world
Sweet the rain’s new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s recreation of the new day
Words by Eleanor Farjeon
Music traditional Scottish Gaelic tune