Therese Gramercy . . . the girl named Trees

Snowy Branches Dancing

Snow Dancers

In the illumination of my headlights as I head up the hill,
ice crystals declare that the air is not still.

They searchlight a scene both beautiful and surreal,
trees bent down with snow, in an eternal bow before me.

Snow dancers, poised in mid-stride, graceful and tall,
awaiting applause, as I watch frozen in awe.