Inky depths of the lake’s cool waters,
Shades of smoky quartzes and sapphires.
Nascent rays danced across
The mirrored disc stretched
Out in front of black rocks,
Wielding it to shimmer
And glitter like diamonds.
Sprawling skies above,
The colour of bruises,
The colour of dreams;
Dark purples, light blues.
Splinters of light creep in
Through cracks of
Conspiring clouds
Blossoming into
The deepest hues of
Indigos, lapis, and dark greys,
Carrying the danger of rain.
Squint in the distance,
One can see a thin line
Of jagged peaks of
Morning mist mountains,
Joining the sky and lake
At the horizon.
Crisp winter air works
On numbing the fingers,
Painting pale cheeks
A stinging rosy red,
Turing each exhale
Into smoke.
Jack Frost’s breath
Bites at your neck
As hands dig deeper
Into pockets, searching
For a sliver of warmth,
Teeth framed by
Blue-tinged lips
Clattering still.
Gusts of wind tug
At the ragged ends
Of a scarf,
Plays with hair,
Makes a cherry nose run.
Smell of pinecones,
Dry remains of autumn leaves,
Wafts around as one almost
Slips over wet stones,
Able to catch footing
In muddy boots,
Danger averted
At the last moment.
The only sounds that break
The quietness is skimmed rocks;
Making a splash, creating ripples,
The methodical beat of wings
Before whooper swans began
To glide on the water’s edge,
And winter hymns of snow buntings.
