I sit here trying to
find just the right words
to describe
the precise shade of its
icy grey surface.
Not silvery,
except for spots,
at certain angles.
Not pewter,
except now and then
pewter fits a large patch.
I could say the ice is the
color of an elephant's
hide but then I'd have
to say that doesn't
capture the way the sunlight
plays, skating
across the absolutely
smooth and frozen crust of water.
Why am I so hell bent
on communicating the color
of the pond? Why
am I compelled to freeze into words
the warm excitement I feel staring
out the window at this sight? It
has everything to do with
the light.
Still, I ought to stop trying
to find the right words
and just let my eyes settle
and fill with the beautiful ice.
I move my
mind to the bench and there,
I pull my bathrobe tight and
breathe in
the arctic wind and rejoice
in the pond and the glowing sunlight
which suddenly
and slightly mirrored.
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