The First Frost: Happy As A Lark

Ghostly breaths linger in the morning air after each exhale

While glassy stares escape the banks of watery accretions  Caused by icy inhales, not yet warmed, but somehow continue to prevail  Early birds, out of the nest, fluff themselves, occasionally over plumped in anticipation of the season Creating cozy comfortable nestings, as ritual, the season holidays entail Larks dot the landscape as decorations, like those adorning homes, among the sticks and withering leaves, giving beauty a picturesque reason The season retold and recaptured as fairytale Artesian wells, no longer the playgrounds of summer during this offseason Instead, remain as silver screens and natural mirrors, where all else pales Sweet songs are sung, calling on those who have not gone south, to unite, calling on the spirit of the legions A secret seasonal pact, lending the four seasons  to us, traded by afternoon, in my California home, to become a fleeting detail That some how makes each morning to evening seem sweetened

crisper, while everything's lined with a sugary glitter on a grander scale Sent via the Samsung Galaxy