On a roll,
back in the act,
begun from a run
of deathly, restless sleep,

one step
tentative, yet bold
out for a stroll,
plein air,
winter morning. . .

for sure,
yes, cold,

but the brilliant yellow leaves
that pop against the creek bank green,
the red ones that smile
up in the hilly gray sky scene,
rimmed in peach horizon pastel hues
that streak through gentle purple blues,

which add up a batch of sundry eye delights
that do not really quite suffice
to thaw finger tips that feel like ice,
but they penetrate my beating heart
like a long-traveled Christmas card
to effect my soul’s deep warming.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Seasons, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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