Once Upon a Morning

Fogging, my words are captured in cloudy mist.

Rapid steps take me to my waiting car, where

Exhalations of steam extend from the tail pipe as it churns to life.

Extending further from me, I see my breath start to sleepily drift

Zabaglione-like, semi-solid as the cold gathers the moist air to itself, rising

Ever Higher.

* * * * * * * *

Flexing fingers unaccustomed to mittens

Reaching through backseat detritus for weather-appropriate help

Overlooking sandals and towels from warmer days

Scraper is finally located for the first windshield onslaught of the season.

Though first: a moment to appreciate this Master artist's work.

* * * * * * * *

Bountiful brushes by unseen hands have been at work

Evocative swirls, twining branches of rimed crystal

Arch across the glass in a pattern both wondrous and strange

Unasked for anointing has slowed my morning

Though now I wonder: do the birds always sing so sweetly?

Yanked from my inner monologue of woe: I am now fully in the moment.