Winter Morning

Early morning
and we peer
through frosted windows.

The sky
a great shadow
shifts slowly
to living cobalt.

The moon
dangles
a silver sliver.

On the horizon
the preternatural
glow of dawn.

In the cedars
redpolls stirring.

From the houses
smoke lazily rising
mingling
with the chill.

The snow lies
a plush blanket
the earth interred.

We bate breath
awaiting the afternoon
of seasons.
A new arising.