Frost edges every blade of grass;
Freezes it into a fairyland of white,
But the oak is only beginning to drop her sculpted leaves
Drop them like handwritten letters from spring
When they first popped from buds and began growing,
When they loaded the tree with leathery green
From summer when they shaded the children playing,
When a circle of day lilies circled the tree,
From autumn when they flew like flags
When we first noticed them begin to turn brown
When they rattled and fluttered and shook in the wind.
Frost trims each letter in fragile lace
Each letter has a message to deliver to winter
A letter of seasons and hope, change, and promise.
I am a photographer and a freelance writer. I write stories, poetry, gift books, and magazine articles––both print and online. Photographing children, places, and especially flowers is my hobby.
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