At the first gasp of January,
I hike a woodland trail,
boots crunching fresh powder.
A white-tailed deer appears
like a ghost from the laurel.
Not a whisper of dogwood buds.
A flying squirrel dusts snow
from a canopy of pines,
you feel the bone structure of earth.
Resurrection fern stretches heavenward.
The cry of a red-tailed hawk
cutting through vermilion clouds,
a violet cloak drapes
the shoulders of Cherry
Mountain
a Full Wolf Moon spills honey.
--Brenda Kay Ledford
No comments:
Post a Comment