The grass glitters gray and silver;
Roofs and mailboxes glisten with frost.
Buck Creek, warmer than the air, sends
wisps of steam into the early morning sunshine.
Birds whistle autumn good-byes to each other.
My lungs warm the chilled air,
sending it back out in a cloud.
Fallen leaves rustle as my feet disturb them.
I smell the woodsmoke from the fireplace
and know the coziness of home.