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January Storm

A crash outdoors

woke us this morning. A limb

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fallen from too much ice.

On the ground, a shining crust

of snow. Ice-misted trees.

Just outside our window,

star clusters of pine needles spread

in ice-explosions; winter fireworks.

We walk beneath ice-weighted pine limbs.

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Each needle, sheathed in ice,

sets off white-gold sparks

reminding us of how alive we feel

in this new world.

Our pond, a frosted shield,

still harbors fish. Beneath

the translucent surface, small amber ovals

flare with the muted glow

of the last moments before sunset.

On the deck, our metal owl

wears a dripping crown of ice.

A branch cracks

like the burst of a Roman candle

falling onto our lawn the color

of the moon, spiraling snowdust

into the January sky

I find myself thinking

of the hidden earth beneath this snow,

the invisible graces that see us through

as we walk this landscape -

pines, poplars, our once-familiar house

penciled with fire.

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