Your Sunday Poem

This from Ked Kooser's "Winter Morning Walks: One Hundred Postcards to Jim Harrison."

december 19

cold, and snow in the air.

The cedars in the roadside ditches
are nearly black against the many grays
of this winter morning, but unlike
most things with darkness at their centers
they don't turn an impenetrable shell
to the light.  Rather, like ink on wet paper,
their dark limbs bleed into the light,
reaching farther and farther
into the whiteness of lightly falling snow.