Winter Pear

The pale pre-dawn sky fractures along the horizon
And the heavens spill their persimmon hues over the frost-glazed landscape.
Even while leaves have long fallen,
The fruit trees are flush with the gospel of birds.
The apple tree flutters with an unfelt gale
As the morning breathes with a new kind of life.
Like the ashen streets of Pompeii, the garden lays frozen in time.
Frost fingers reach greedily across the pond
And snowdrops sing like crystal bells.
Fog retreats from my bedroom window
And the warm smell of orange peel and clove urges the day to begin.