Low Winter Sun

Blinded by low winter sun that rakes the icy field. I shield my eyes and view each furrowed rut cut stark in sharp relief; each new line so dark. I peer as dazzling light lifts thinning mist from ribs of frozen mud and see each furrow's crest capped with silver dust. Like sea-spray in the morning light waves furrowed white. Foam flecks the breeze as blossom flecks the trees. Spring is on it’s way but will not stay. Summer sun is high and in the sky swallows gather, then depart. Rain clouds loom. Though spring has not yet begun. I’m blinded by low winter sun.