The garden waits, entombed in ice.Life suspended, frozen time.
Stiff and brittle, brown and silent.
Bowing low to winter's will.
Buried deep, it hides within.
Fire smolders, glazed in rime.
Ice the master, cold its maiden.
Staying spring with binding chill.
Blue the ice, reflecting sky.
Bluer yet, on cobalt glazed.
Crystal water stretches down,
Straining for the frozen ground.
Ice has come, and ice will go.
Sun will shine, new longer days.
Winter trembles, spring will win.
Melting cobalt's shining crown.
Just a little ode to the ice storm that really wasn't. Yes, we got some ice here in the Flint Hills, perhaps a quarter inch, more likely an eighth. Not nearly the shel-icing predicted and simply an expected moment of winter caused by the collide of different weather fronts. The only bright color in my garden is now the bottle tree, a shining gem with a fantastic multi-faceted coating. It was for this moment that I cemented the post deep in the ground years past, stalwart against the worst of wind and storm, to shout defiance at the winter's worst. I could only wish today for sunshine, to make it glisten and shine, if only for the briefest moment. 
