The snow-covered back woods at dawn, the puffy white outstretched arms of the trees
like so many ballerinas, arms a flutter and curved just so,
I know I see it clearer than you do, for it's in my soul, this winter freeze.
The sun will change it, it's only here for me now, and then it will go.
So, I take it with me in my head, and let the image tease:
The trees (at dawn) . . . . . The memory (gone).
~ Morna C-M