Bedtime stories
Shadows creep uphill,
follow the receding glow
like a tired blanket
reluctantly to bed.
Cooler air hovers
over low spots, beads form
on the beige grasses
that poke through the snow.
The earth releases heat
in the settling darkness,
fogs the window panes
as blind as drawn curtains.
A silver palette shivers,
traces sharp-edged leaves,
while spirits wander
to reclaim the night,
etching wishes like kisses
of feathers and ferns,
sign in frosted letters
and secret inscriptions —
as if some restless soul
scribed their old dreams lucent,
to be read again at dawn
in the pink-hued glass.
LMC
