Winter Morning at Windows, Reading Emily Dickinson


Everything the color of the fog.

Slender branches of weeping cherry

curve, supple in a frozen season.

The soft-white orb of a sun slants

through the gauze,

hints of a world outside this.

You imagine the explicit blue

above, the misting of the earth

a white illusion.... Slowly perceptible

in the softening, clear water

drips from trees and fences,

the deepened landscape clarifies

and lifts into azure.

of 5 stories this month > Get unlimited stories
You've read 5 of 5 free stories

Only $1 for your first month.

Get unlimited Monitor journalism.