Icicles
In the mild sun
of a quiet winters afternoon
the snow gives way
to running rivulets of water
softly flowing and dripping
from the edges of trees and eaves
yet the cold wintry air wraps her
icy fingers around the little drops
as they fall to the ground
they freeze, newly born in icy tendrils
hanging delicately, precariously
from the edges of the world
transforming the landscape
into an icy shadow of itself.
Copyright © Trudy Diane Rider | Year Posted 2009
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