This Thanksgiving morning we awoke to a nice frost here in Western Washington. We don’t get frost all that often in this gentle, marine climate, so it’s beautiful and rare treat. Just one more thing to be thankful for today.
Here’s a little poem of thanksgiving written many years ago on another frosty day.
FROST IN MORNING
When the willow world is with hoarfrost hung,
And the white fog lifts leaving trees bright new,
The foliage flashes with a crystal clue
Of how the world looked when light first leaped young.
Before man’s weight and weakness had begun
To break the branch or bruise the sodden slough,
The garden grew unburdened, bathed in dew,
Grew like a canticle, perfectly sung.
Poetic Champions 