Winter In The Mountains

The mountains, green and white,
Are frosted this morning.
The grey of the sky spilled over,
Muting their beauty for just a moment.
The haze of the grey,
Joins with the icy glaze of white,
And frosts the trees with,
A touch of ice.
In spite of the frozen cold of the winter morn,
A breeze dares to breathe,
A breath forlorn.
And clumps of snow,
Blow off of branches,
Freed at last to move,
As they shake off the whiteness,
The burden of yesterday’s blanket of snow.
The world is stirring as darkness gives way.
Not allowing the frozen night to bind,
All of nature, in the light of day.
The clouds begin to drift,
As the grey is forced to lift,
By the presence of the sun,
Touching every frosted place,
With its warmth and grace.
Bringing back into motion,
The frozen repose,
Of last night’s slumber.
And I am the dancer upon this stage.
I join the trees.
I laugh, I sway,
And let the sunlight and the breeze,
Take me through my day.
The breeze, the frozen morn,
The joy, of the white life,
Of winter in the mountains.

by connie crane

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