Noonday Poem, January 9, 2015

Frost makes clean;

near and far.

.

The lawns, the open lots

the view of the town below

are, like in the song,

white and even.

.

In the woods, the pathways

are firm and easy to grip.

Even the black mud is crystallized

into villages of tiny towers

with sharp edges and points.

The sunlight

though low-angled

is brilliant on the morning gloss

and for these few moments

this world is a dream;

a picture of its ideal self.

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