“The slow turn of the planet pulls the sun from behind snow granite summits.”

This spring morning is bitter cold;

Earth trying to hold tight to winter.

The cloudless light of dawn is

pale, clear, translucent blue.

Buds emerge on bare branches,

Tender shoots peek from half thawed ground.

Thin lines of snow are drawn

On crests of brown mountaintops.

Shrubs birth the reds and yellows

Of new growth.

A slowly turning planet pulls the sun

From behind granite summits.

Suddenly black billed magpies

Alight atop tall tress.

Turning stark white breasts east to

Welcome the brilliance.