Clouds forsake the skies in evening
And settle in the valleys for the night
Like rumpled cotton batting nesting in a box of jewels.
In early morning, as light leaks through the heavy air,
Lines in grays, shapes in dark and light emerge,
Not colored yet by full sun.
Dark humping hills layered,
Overlapping into time and away
Like watchful mammoths come in the night
Wooly with maple and fir, rising
Out of each other in herds to guard
The valleys while they sleep.
Jagged fullness of maples, stark dark lines of roofs,
Pale straight wall of houses, light wild grasses--
The sun rising touches all the hillsides alive
With its crystalline wand.
i admire hw well you write poetry ...such a fine mind to create from nothing such beauty.