By Susan Krause
Winter, asleep, mouth agape,
moisture from the lungs escapes,
is convected through the leaky sash
to crystallize on frigid glass.
And on this window rimed with frost
what I see is energy lost,
Its cost weighted in CO2, ash, and soot.
This carbon print, a Sasquatch foot.
But must I be in such a rush
to jack boot Jack Frost
and crush his brush?
This winter morning the frosted glass
offers up a view made new,
sunrise kaleidoscopes through crystals,
a phantasmagoria of alien flora;
feathery ferns, frosty flowers.
Ephemeral, this magic, and almost tragic
how this world in fairy guise
in mere moments melts before my eyes.
I mourn an innocence eclipsed,
and add weather stripping to the list.
Susan Krause is grateful for having lived on an old Iowa County farmstead in the Driftless for 44 years. Each year her roots grow deeper, nourishing body and spirit. She enjoys all of the seasons, but winter may be her favorite. Photo by Susan Krause.