Crispy Autumn Morning
Algae on the pond,
crystalized with ice,
floats above frigid waters,
a light crust of bright green glass.
The rich dark hues
of the edge of the horizon,
where field meets forest,
broken by the browns of fallen foliage.
Brittle leaves, curled, frozen,
fused to blades of grass.
Nature’s frozen greens.
A forsythia huddles naked in the wind.
The bare branched trees
shiver in the breeze,
withered up and creaking.
Even tiny birds can see their breath.
Daylight breaks through.
The sun stumbles in
still wearing a jacket of clouds.
Even he can feel the chill.
The morning is quiet.
The air is still.
Today feels like an apple.
