The morning breaks gently hard, as time wields its unearthly hand, it pulls us in and wraps us round all that we can see, and captures us, and makes us sit, to watch itself go by.
The trees seem wicked as they rest, assured that winter is here, and the cold of the days will soon become the cold of Januaries hold, thought to be refreshed, but to be smacked again by February's resistance. The sun is being held as far from earth as it might follow, and the cold reminences of a wet and frigid day, are there each morning, lying in wait, in wait again, as it sees the dancing light of day.
I read what you wrote, the frigid letters piercing through the frozen paper, the writing so perfect, the skill to bless and be blessings still, as the barbed wire lay gently against the soul. Each day a new one, each moment the time until spring.
Ralph Peck
Photography by Cindy Layton
In The Hollow, near Wann,Oklahoma
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