Ice Abhors a Blur

Eleven degrees--
Doesn't explain the sunshine,
Or my high spirits.

 

Melting light through green,
Sun illuminates pine trees,
Shadowing the ground.

 

Popping from nearby--
A cracking of a tree limb,
Or a gate opened?

 

In the frozen coop
Hens clucking
(They are being fed).


 

 

Not a spot of ice
In the bright flowing stream.
Might as well be Spring.

 

 

Shapes are more distinct
In the frigid morning light.
Ice abhors a blur.

 

Illuminated:
Dead orange leaf on the snow
Basks in the sunlight.

 

Why does the snow turn gray?
Does it really grow old fast?
Or is it car fumes?