Glass Beads (SWF)

Like a strand of glass beads, broken,
and bouncing loosely onto the roof in a million tiny pieces, the first sounds of this morning woke me with an abrupt reminder of the day’s promise—ice.
The gentle tapping at the window last evening, the fine mist I’d left falling softly in the darkness before bed, almost forgotten.
And what, in the dimness of dawn, seemed a delicate satiny glaze, with the daylight showed, in fact, a much chunkier covering. Which, with each slight sway of the tall, broad trees, repeated its shattering, as sections of the glassy layer fractured and fell in silver showers all around.


By mid-day, the freezing rain had become large flakes pouring wildly from a thick, swirling sky—
until there was no more to fall from it.
And then, in the stillness it remained,
soft and white above the night’s icing.


And I, without the demands on it of every other,
could let this day be just that.
Soft and white and still.

all photos click to enlarge

Glass Beads
Ice on Ironweed

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