Orange streaks in the cold winter sky as the morning breaks over Criffel. A v of geese flying ahead. Fields, sky, hill.

V of geese, streaks of the morning. My breath moves with the V of the geese, with the breath of the morning. This morning, a hundred timepast winter’s mornings, all winter morns to come.

Fields, sky, hill. V of geese, streaks of the morning.