The Morning Air Poem by Phil Soar

The still morning air caught my breath
and icy chills ran through my chest
Hands, so cold I could not feel the things I touched
yet enjoying making strides through fields pure white
The frost setting the scene
Birds foraging among the dead leaves
footprints mirroring where my cold feet strode
from field to road and back to field
I love these early mornings
barely a soul to share it with
But my dogs enjoying it with me
and the three of us are surprised
by the way our senses thrive
in the cold
Of the still morning air