Frost, yes frost that forms on windows. Mine forms on an east window with the sunrise behind it. This photo and poem are of golden frost
Skip The Light Fantastic
Gold, the power of Sol so distant yet so here, now. Each day in our clock of eons, its heat, its light is our survival, vital, earth driving, its energy is all. Yet in a subtle wink of morning sol has time to take a walk along winter bones of ice frozen on an ordinary kitchen window. Softly gray ice on the glass turns blues as morning wakes, blushes fiery passion found naked, is stroked by fingers of brassy light penetrating every node with Sol energy, caressing, goosing the frigid fibers till in harmony the crystals sing octaves of solid gold tremolo then ecstatically expire, swaying, melted.
Which way shall I take the course to my reader’s hearts,
What scale and tools do I collect with,
What voyeur’s wrap I claim in readiness.
Are the ages of my father come to bear,
Or will be for next generation’s benefit:
And for sure hope luck to smile a lot,
Unless I weaken in devotion,
That I harbor this pretext,
Where course is subject to a wanton age.
Gather, flock with us; examine all to beyond:
Valiant person have surpassed our time.
Amazing. You have a talent for the sensual. I'll never again look at frosted windows quite the way I did before I read this. Vivid writing and visually a feast...
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What scale and tools do I collect with,
What voyeur’s wrap I claim in readiness.
Are the ages of my father come to bear,
Or will be for next generation’s benefit:
And for sure hope luck to smile a lot,
Unless I weaken in devotion,
That I harbor this pretext,
Where course is subject to a wanton age.
Gather, flock with us; examine all to beyond:
Valiant person have surpassed our time.
Gina
Be safe,
Karen
ET