Frost by Dawn Garrett

Frost

Have you ever noticed
that the clearest, bluest
skies yield coldest days?

A few puffy white clouds
cling to the heavens
but mostly the blue is unhindered.

Shockingly, on our walk
we’re pelted by pellets
of sleet? of snow?

Flakes flitter and fall
with no evidence
of their formation.

Crystals balled up
like a bloodroot bloom
against the dark.

The daffodils along the
path stare at me
with accusing eyes

blaming me for
the snap of cold
after days of warmth.

Where shadows rest
on roofs, blocking brilliant sun,
frost persists, holding tight.

This unusual, unseasonable
April morning where
the cold reminds us it’s

Good Friday.