8am through Halifax

Skeleton trees against the morning light,
slow sun rising, dark eyes reflecting,
blister bright.
Silver spiders spin soft mists in the crag.
Cold ground, not yet frost kissed,
yet still glists, stealing glory
from the morning.
Gold and silver, polished places, sneak
through cracks in heaven.
Light beyond lightning, breaks through and expands.
Warmth beyond burning.
Even in winter, life in the lighting.
Deep in the leaf fall
new year is kindling.
The trees warm their fingertips,
tickling a cloud smudged, cerulean sky.

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