Glory

He walked out
into the long, sloping meadow
stretching out to the edge of winter.
The once-frozen earth
sucked at his shoes,
and the slightest haze of red
colored the distant hills.
The wind ruffled his hair,
carrying a warm promise
as a redwing perched on a fencepost
and sang.
He looked up at the bluest sky,
and smiled.
"Glory!"
he exclaimed,
almost like a prayer.

--Timothy Haut, Feb. 22, 2016