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A Good Morning to All

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow...
I know, those words have been used before, but dawn today was beautiful and it put me in mind of the Christmas poem by Clement Clarke Moore - the words, dashing and dancing through my head, as I trudged through the snow with a pair of skis slung over my shoulder. Jenny is riding the mountain with her Grade Seven class this week and she needed help carrying her equipment to school - a miniature sleigh would have definitely come in handy.
The temperature dipped to minus twenty through the night - it was clear and the air had a particular zing to it. The sun was still well beneath the horizon and a bright half-moon hung high in the sky, giving a luster of daylight to the mountains below.
Tucker frolicked along with us in the waxing daybreak, running ahead and bounding back, only to dash away once more.

In the nearby woods, the deer watched with their soft, brown eyes - until they spied Tucker. Immediately, there arose a large clatter, and I could sense the prancing and pawing of each tiny hoof as the shy creatures took flight through the trees.
The cold air was refreshing and I was loathe to go indoors when I arrived home. So, I shoveled the rest of the snow from the drive before coming inside to stoke the fire and watch the woodsmoke rise up the chimney.

Earthenware

It is a difficult thing
to break the mould,
And all the while
remain intact.

Intent

Poetry clings to me
I must set it free

2010

I will look forward with the innocence of a child, bringing with me the wisdom of the past.