Spheres of crystals frost the trees,

Coating power lines in mist,

Along the garland of 1-70,

Pipes and engines of the air’s abyss;

Droves of streaming cars

Shrouded now in icicles,

Farms lost to Fords and Volvos,

Tinseled anyway by snow,

By the ermine-clouded stars

That ornately trace

The vehicles we live in,

The miracles we chase,

With the heaven

That we’re given.


Tippet Alley

February 10th, 2014