Frosty Rose Bush

It is joy to step into
a frosty morning.
Bracing, cold, new-day air
tinged with the lingering smell
of last night’s wood smoke.
White coating of tiny frozen drops
on everything.
Sun shining,
setting the place asparkle.
Dog breath puffs in little clouds
as Maisey takes off,
barefoot,
across the sparkling, frosty grass
barking at something a quarter mile away.
A sheet of ice
atop all pans of water for the animals and birds.


Alpacas see me from the pasture
and come running.
Cats sit hunched on the cold grass,
in the sun,
waiting for breakfast.
The goats greet with their bleat and baa.
Rooster crows from inside the barn.
A crow answers.
Ah, morning.