For Julie

 
 
 
    The Temple Bells sound clearly.
    Early morning misty mountain rising.
    Pale moon to jolly alpine sun.
    Soft blues & golds
    throughout the Valley.
    And, hark!  Hear the bells
    over hillsides, rockslides, 
    slip of skis, powder peaks,
    & rime held skies.
    That frost smell, plainly
    on that open mountain day
    & no one around but enticing odor
    of clean virgin snow.
   The darkside of the moon faces shyly.
    Sly shade moored under awaits her cue.
    Anticipation pure with mirth.
    & Night comes quickly.
    Icy stars blank out now pallid sun.
    And moonbeams twinkle – oh la!
    Pawprints mar niveous path.
    The mountain creature stalks.
    But soon hides & shivers 
    in providential crevice of warmth.
Vestal white reigns high.
    Crystal-clear
    crystal stars
    celestial tableau.
Snowflake ribbons, cloud dust,
    shatter into mirror-images & gone!
    Scatter, swirl
    Eternally.
.
.
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