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Ice Capades

By Bill Wilson

Snow up north, 
rain down south,  
while here at home   
layers converge. 
Warm air slides over cold,  
day slips away  
into night as fronts collide  
and mingle in the dark. 

Morning. 
Bejeweled flora   
garbed in rigid gelid glaze, 
paths to feeders frozen smooth, 
sloped terrain a one-way glide. 
A gilded sun tiptoes over the ridge 
revealing a muted crystal sweep. 

Night. 
January’s Wolf Moon, 
canine blood spirits darkness away 
while winter hills wink  
in fragile glints and tinsels. 
Lunar perigee chills hoary souls   
as coyote choir natters 
approval to its celestial cousin. 

Filed Under: Poetry

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