Mendage

Morning: a pale orange ribbon wrapped around the horizon behind grey cotton-puffs that fill a fragile sky. Frost is sparkling everywhere, like the imagining of shattered glass. The street is still.

Can you wake without disturbing the sleep of others? Tread softly. In summer I am wakened by someone else's clock, but today only crows and cockerels announce the light to me.

Dawn is said to break. Today let there be no shattering: let gentle clouds be our blanket and our cushions. Let the sharp intricacies of frost soften to the tenderness of dew. Let there be mendage.

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