By Charlie Tarbell
Five-oh-five AM; fifteen degrees; darkness prevails
We pour our first cup of coffee, cherishing the bite of the bitter brew
Moonlight reflects off the new snow; winterscape refreshed with a new coat
A sprinkling of stars shines pinpricks through the southern sky
Weary wind, a remnant of last night’s storm, buffets the western shore
Trees begin to resolve from the darkness
Hills emerge on the horizon heralding the dawn
Daytime distills from the stormy darkness; a familiar view emerges from night
No birds; no noises; no signs of life
Silently, a sliver of pink light slides across the top of Stanwood Mountain
And slowly descends; Then gracing the peak of Bear Mountain, drifting down
Soon, the sun bathes the tippity-top of the pine trees on Starbird Point.
In minutes, the western shore is illuminated; the sunlight seems to stir the wind
The wind whips snow squalls which march eastward across the ice
The sunlight stirs ice fog into ghostly peaks; we call them dementors
The snow squalls dance with the dementors and crash silently into the eastern shore
The sunlight’s increasingly warm glow spreads fire-like, across the lake
The apparitions dancing on the ice are graceful, fluid, and solicitous
The snowpack, toasted pink, appears warm, beckoning us outside
But we know better and, instead, pour another cup of coffee
