At dawn on a crisp winter’s day, even the light is cold.
It paints the land a steely, frigid blue; the stain sets quickly and deeply
so that all it covers is held absolutely still.
The brush strokes are rough, uneven, prickly,
giving a harsh texture to this arresting canvas.
This natural work of art is powerful enough
to hold any viewer frozen in its grasp.
m1nute 
Love this. Pure Poetry, so much so I can feel the cold nip at my nose as I read it.
That’s a real compliment coming from a poet whose writing I admire so much.