A Plenitude of Gifts

 

There is a gossamer fragility
to the early morning sun sending tentative
filaments of light through the forest
emptied of its canopy
on this late winter day. That old
Master Craftsman has ventured
from his faraway hills to try his
creative hand at sculpting.

Frost delicately etches this landscape.
Priceless crystals rest upon leafage
encrusting the forest floor
where sun's fingers emblazon them
with an exquisite fire.
Wherever the eye strays
on bark, a revealed trail, lichen
fungi or wind-tossed branches
all carefully limned, white-washed.

Strands of glistening white ice
intertwine robustly as though carelessly
flung over fallen twigs. A magical display
soon to dissolve as the sun gains confidence
warmth, resolve. Then, crystals disappear
and all remains washed, brightening
faded glory of early spring tinctures.

A raven, silent and wide-winged
passes above, settles quietly
crowning the mast of an ancient pine.
Nuthatches call, flitting among
chattering chickadees. Squirrels
begin their quotidian treasure hunt
foraging, scrabbling, harassing one

another, intent on winter survival.