Stirring

Frost ferns creep across the glass;

there is beauty

in the cold of morning

when breath mingles with the mist

in intimate abandon

and the sun wears a bridal veil

blushing gold at her reflection.

Across the rain-damp altar of earth.

petals fall like confetti,

pale pink kisses

baring the seed of summer’s fruit,

promising abundance.

Feathered handmaidens

sing the paean unseen

in the mirror of perfection

as a goddess stirs.