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A COLD MORNING – EARLY AM POETRY
The early morning breeze—
Stark, absolute in its coldness, Blows full on my face and makes my hands tingle, makes my nose run, and my ears go numb.
Extraordinary! I think I almost gasped, as I looked around, to the left, then to the right. I look in front of me at the trees swaying gently, while the fog lifts like silent breath, ephemeral, mysteriously rising from the ground surrounding me.
I turned back to where I left the car on the side of the road. but the sun, blazing in the cold morning, glinted, and splashed colors around your head, hues of purples and blues streaking your dark curlicue shoulder-length hair. Teeth, not-quite-gleaming white (and that is alright with me); tongue cheekily stuck out at me, as your eyes sparkled, gold transmuted into liquid honey and amber.
This moment, in reflection, was everything. Every time I pass that field, especially on cold, blazingly sunny, mornings, when the fog hangs low for a bit, I feel your glittering eyes, your smile, your hair, the perfume you wore that morning. It all comes rushing back to me as strong as a tsunami crashing and slamming into jagged rocks: Immediate. No mercy. Without preparation. Transformative.
I smile, continue on my way, knowing the memory of that perfect morning with you will be with me for the rest of this lifetime.
