Hoarfrost

From the car I saw
a thin line of frost on the horse fence
curling on the pale wisps of tall grasses
bending wiry thorns to its fierce whisper

I didn’t see the sun
until I was driving home
a waxing disk of white and gold
tucked in its wintry
slant southern corner
its rays wrapped in the
chill of a January fog

In about half an hour
it would all be gone
The fence gray and damp
grasses wilting under crystal tears
thorns released from their ardent genuflection

I drove slowly that morning
anxious for nothing
for once content to see
but dimly