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.
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