A Bead of Ice
written by: Patricia Furstenberg
First light, fog clings to hollows,
a tremor threads the frigid air –
not wind, not leaf –
a trembling call.
Up there, a bird. Suspended,
it tests the silence
while world’s still caught in winter’s icy web.
A branch sways out of dreams –
thin fingers tracing dawn’s lost breath
as glacial as streams that smoke with morning steam.
No footfall here, no cart-wheel’s creak,
no hearth yet set to crackle,
only that note, one bead of ice,
bold as it tilts the morning light,
ringing anew like touched by grace.
It echoes summons, greetings,
questions winged into chilled space
that hangs ’tween earth and sky.
One note – snowflake on daylight’s edge –
one call from one winged fist,
its beak the first to dare,
while world lies blanketed in snow.
One bird, one note
before the sun shakes loose its gold,
before the day takes up its load.
One thrill, one song, and life leans closer.
Warmed up,
it wakes, it listens,
it finds itself
anew.
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