Frost everywhere this morning.  Sunshine, almost a forgotten sensation with the days of rain, lighting then up along side the road from the lake house to the highway.  All around glistening morning.  Did you notice?

"Perhaps the purpose                                                  which to the ant                                                
of leaves is to conceal                                                  must seem as high                                             
the verticality                                                               as these trees do to us,
of trees                                                                        silos and                                  
which we notice                                                           telephone poles,                                                      
in December                                                                stalagmites                                                          
as if for the first time:                                                    and skyscrapers,                                        
row after row                                                               But most of all                                          
of dark forms                                                               these winter oaks,                                             
yearning upwards.                                                        these soft-fleshed poplars,                                              
And since we will be                                                    this birch                                               
horizontal ourselves                                                      whose bark is like                                               
for so long,                                                                  roughened skin                                                    
let us now honor                                                          against which I lean
the gods                                                                       my chilled head,
of the vertical:                                                              to lie down.

                                                   Linda Pastan,   "Vertical"
stalks of wheat