Instant of Glory

Eight in the morning;
Flash of sunshine on the field.
It's twenty degrees.

Where did it come from,
This log, eaten by the bugs,
Then by woodpeckers?








"Cock a doodle doo;"
Rooster actually crowed that
And crowed it again.

Peter's old peace sign
Moved with him to the garage
Next to the pick-up.

Without any wind
Leaf's as still as a shadow,
Center of the road.

I make my own sounds
Clumping feet and rubbing cloth;
All else is silence.









Mansion on the hill
Greets the sun every morning
But makes no effort.

Rays of the morning
Light up the tiny pine tree--
Instant of glory.

Tiny flecks of light
Float through the cold morning air:
Sunshine on snow flakes.