Over the great plain of the snowy yard
the sun rises warm and orange
like salmon on a porcelain plate
as if to say “Feast upon this day.”
Mid day, each tree prayerfully stilled,
the sun leans over the frozen marsh,
touches every crystal
with tiny, sparkling fingers
as if to say, “You make beauty
with your eyes.”
Evening, at the far end of the field
the sun rolls over on one side
on its white pillow of snow,
pulls the great orange cloud over its head
and is silent, as if to say,
“You will be given rest.”
Midnight, only the moon is awake,
watching over you,
smiling its famous half smile
is if to say, “Splendor unfolds
without your knowing.”
—February 12, 2018