The Early Sun

The early sun 

passing through the red-gray stems

of the river trees

casts long shadows into the snowfields.

The river is dark and shiny;

the buttes above shoulder the sky

and repeat a winter theme.

I love this quiet,

this lockdown of activity.

We should take the time to dream.

The only sound is the thrum of my truck engine,

the only movement 

is the heated air

escaping through my open truck window,

wavering the scene.

I’m glad I live in America,

where we have conquered fire

and have fuel to do much and build much,

and to view this winter morning.

The shadows are shortened;

now the sun is higher,

and the sycamore trunks show white

among the red-gray branches.

I shut down my truck

and listen to the quiet.

The shadows pulling back into the trees

make no sound.

Only the river going down has a voice,

rubbing frozen banks and islands in the way.

What a day!

- © Gerry Sackett, 2011

Sycamore; photo by Tony Russell