A Private Rainstorm

Last night, the sky and rain

contrived

to glaze all the

trees and such:

just a thin, elegant coating of ice.

Today, the sun diamonded everything

as it warmed the ice,

freeing dainty drops:

a hushed conversation between trees

and moss.

I stood outside the fence, listening,

knowing this not to be an affair for me.

This was a private rainstorm.

And now, the many faces of winter in Kentucky

 These are the smiliest faces of winter hereabouts.

 

 

 

This is ice from a week or so ago, which resulted in poetry. 

 Before that, was this.

 Between them, was this, which I think probably resulted in the last post's poetry.