It’s still dark

The bright, full circle of a moon

Shines down on the trees.

Covered in sparkling frost,

The trees form haunting scepters,

Visions of white ghosts.

That’s one side of the story.

On the other side, there’s a different feel.

The bright yellow ball of yarn

Is already high in the sky when my eyes open.

Fluffy kitten clouds chase

The glowing yarn around the sky

As the early school bus turns the corner.

That’s the other side.

I get ready,

Either fumbling in the dark of winter

Or blinking away the light of summer.

Binders and books and bags

Form a labyrinth between my bed and the door.

I trip once or twice.

Too dark or too light.

Aren’t people hard to satisfy?