Dance of Days
A-shimmer in the wintry morning light,
Ephemeral mist drifts on icy air.
Warm, humid, human breath shines rimy bright,
The touch of warmth no longer barely there --
As delicate mist shadows on the snow,
Caress the canyons riven through the drifts,
And tiny shadow dancers soft and slow,
Flit silently cross crevices and rifts.
My days seem as translucent as the mist,
Of life's breath crystallizing in the sun:
The diaphanous wraith, by Jack Frost kissed,
Becomes a ghostly veil to jump and run.
My own luminous shadow skips and sways,
An eerie evanescent dance of days.
Mick McKellar
October 2013
As day 960 since my transplant drew to a close, I was thinking about how swiftly and delicately the days fly by. The image of warm breath misting in early winter morning sunshine jumped into my mind.
Mick
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