Sleepily, before the morning dawn, mist begins the rain.
As I listen in the dark, ice crystals descend here
and there on the roof. Pitter patter,
then, in an opening of the heavens
the snow is washed disappearing,
a silent reminder
of the promise of spring
living in more than
our distant dreams,
as I pull up the covers enfolded
and fall back to sleep.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies