December Morning Frost
On through Cassoday We were driving north in the half-light Out across the last high plateau, When finally beneath the dawn glow The sun appeared molten and crimson, Suddenly shooting its rainbow light Across the deeply frosted prairie, A prism blanket of hypnotic flash and sparkle. We wound our way on down Through the silent beauty of diamond-backed, tawny hillocks, Into the narrow river valley of farms and tiny village, Past the frosted windshield of an antique truck Parked forever in a nest of bejeweled weeds.
