A glass clear as its contents,
liquid cradled by cupped crystal hands,
the stem a frozen stream of water,
icy cold to the touch.

The faint tang of lemon reaches me first,
then the sharp angularity of a Winter morning.

I sip,
    clear the air,
    flush the pipes,
    inhale mountain pine beneath achingly blue skies,
    burn off the day's underbrush.

Aaah.

Text and image © 2011 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.