The slowness of spring shadows

AreMyFeetOffTheGround

i have stopped by woods on a snowy evening.
it’s a sublime slanting sun, and,
camera in hand,
i come upon the hoped-for scene.

the reaching trees, silhouettes of bareness.
the furnace of the sun,
a smudge of burnt orange behind the ridge,
imparts the hue, the twilight blue
to the mile long shadows
these striations in the crunchy glitter.

i click and click with frantic abandon,
not wanting to lose this singular zenith of beauty.
how many shots? a hundred? a thousand?
i w...