The arc of winter’s day,
like the early crescent moon,
is clipped — dawn comes late and cold
into the frosted town,
mist hangs, bright and pale
between the shadows

Noon brings warmth
and polished gleam
to bare tree limbs,
though the sun stays low,
the shadows still substantial

Cold will come soon —
even any moment —
when the sun slips
behind the tall, dark trees
and heads quickly
like a child coasting home on a bicycle
on the last leg towards night.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 14, 2015