Winter Light

 /   /  By Emma Birches
Stone Soup Magazine
January/February 2012

By Adair Brooks

The sky pinkens.
As the first ray of sun shines over the mountains
Morning dawns.

The light travels down the hillside
Through the bare trees that stretch to the sky;
Ice-covered branches glisten as a field of diamonds.

It glints on the wingtip of a bird,
Setting out to its work
In the cold of dawn.

It flies off, and all is still
But for the babbling of the stream,
Gurgling its way around patches of snow.

The stream runs steadily down the hill,
White-tipped pine needles on either side.

Suddenly the forest rings with the cry of a woodpecker.
His red crown flashes against the white
In a bright burst of color.

A small rabbit pricks up his ears and darts from beneath a
rhododendron bush,
Knocking off clumps of snow from the tightly curled leaves
To land on his long-footed tracks.

The sunlight continues to spread,
Chasing the purple shadow from the edge of the forest,
Its snow-lined branches stretching forth in silent layers.

To meet the sparkling fields beyond,
Which glisten and glow in a dazzling
Sea of white.

Winter Light Adair Brooks

Adair Brooks, 13
Black Mountain,
North Carolina

About the Author

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