over a quaint bridge, the stream
still full after rivers of rain
but this New Year's Eve morn
the sky is azure and the field
under the Wenallt is a transient white,
sun rises, birds flicker from tree to tree
I feel they are serenading me.
The branches, a giant's skeletal fingers,
are adorned with glistening diamonds
from the slowly melting frost
as a dog and owner pass by
and a grey horse stands on the crest of the hill
its breath replacing the morning mist.
In the solitude of this early hour
I can believe... in a higher power.