Ice Poems

After the Ice Rain. The woods outside look like a glazed forest preserved in an arboreal museum. Each tree is candied over in clear icing, the pines stand like tall fluffy blondes, the willow tree is composed of tinkling screens of string ice, a fragile chandelier of spun glass. A young maple in the backyard looks like a free-form composition of ice artwork, the long lithe branches are finely garnished in serried combs of tiny icicles like some a vaunt guarde drip art. The magnolia tree out front is vast glaze of teal pottery; each porcelain leaf ornamentally fringed in fingerling icicles. Here and there barren bushes look like brumal porcupines blooming in glass quills. The houses are all guarded by crystal palisades, and huddled close in the artic freeze, warmly rubbing their hands within, the widows frosted in big smiles. After the Ice Rain x 2. The outside world transforms into wilderness of candied trees and glassine ornaments; storybook houses are made of fondant and glaze, with frosted marchpane windows and thick icing shingles, and contentedly puffing their pipes. An Ice-Onamented World Touched in a Clean and Radiant Light. A resplendently luminous world of glass trees a’flame in fire and ice. Ice Trees Touched by First Morning Light. Crystal-clad cathedrals coruscating in crystal conflagration.