Gullipen in Winter
It is break-heart beautiful up here.
Trees are darkened,
starkened by a white backdrop.
Puddles are stilled into
thin vulnerable crackable ice.
Clouds float, cradled in blue.
Sun strobes through whitened firs.
Houses huddle, silvered by snow
and tiny-ed into fairy-tale magic.
Winged turbines wave,
leap-dance like grounded geese.
The dog slithers, slips.
Snow spouts from his scrambling paws.
It is break-heart beautiful up here
show signs of others.
I use them
in a Wenceslas descent
back to greyness.
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