It won’t be long now.
Already the light is penetrating
the darkness, dissolving the illusions,
pulling back the heavy curtains
that concealed the blazing Truth.
Let it in. There is nothing to fear.
Hear its song. Let it wake you
and fill you with the power
of its promise, with the strength
of its goodness, with the reality
of its message. Take my hand.
We will dance in it together,
dancing as one, dancing for all.
The snow gently piles itself
atop the sleeping azalea.
Deep inside its dreams,
where bright pink flowers
wait for spring, each crystal
becomes a kiss from angels.
Only three weeks have passed
since the solstice, but already
more seconds of light stretch
the days. This morning, I watched
the snow-blue horizon tilt toward
the pink sky and saw the great star
rise golden, pouring its radiance
over the frozen hills. Here:
another precious, pristine day.
I am wrapped in the wonder
of it and feel lucky, down to
Oh, look! Here’s morning, dressed in lace,
waltzing across the snow as if it was
her ballroom floor. How many sequins
did it take to sparkle such a gown?
Back when it was hot and leafy green,
did the trees dream of a day like this,
when everyone would gasp with joy
at such a sight?
Light glares from the ice,
floats up from the snow
bright enough to make you
squint your eyes. And still
you want more, for clouds,
thick and dark are sailing
fast across the western sky.
A storm, they say: a big one.
But now there is this light
rushing through your eyes,
shining into every corner
of your being. And somehow
that is all that matters.
All at once, a breather, a moment of respite
from the cold. Temperatures that, in summer,
would seem chilly feel so balmy to us now
that we go hatless and leave mittens behind.
It won’t last. The forecast says up to six inches
of snow are on their way. But today the sun
is shining and we remember the feel of spring.
The creek wears a layer of water over its ice.
And on its banks, even the trees are dancing.
The pines stand listening to the silence.
It is deep and goes on and on.
They can hear it in the center of their cells,
in the snow at their feet, pressing against
and rising from their bark, caressing every
needle on every bough, both those in shadow
and those bathed in light. It feels like truth.
Far in the distance, traffic hums on a highway,
sounding like meditating monks.
Once it all freezes it becomes a kind of abstraction.
Only the essential forms remain, the merest hints
of color. Even the song of it stills to a frozen note.
And you wait, wanting it to be more somehow,
to move, to breathe, to escape the icy moment
that holds it, trapped, beyond time. Let it be.
Take the image home with you. Let it crawl
back to life in your dreams.
Look quickly. Rain is on its way.
Before it comes, take one last peek
at wonderland. It doesn’t happen
every day, not even in winter;
it gives way to brown and gray.
So grab it. Stare as if you’ll never
see it again, as if this is your one
and only chance. You never know.
Go through the day saying
to yourself: this morning, I saw
A cloud of snow driven by cold winds
is eating the northern hills. Already
the first flakes hurl themselves
like tiny darts into my face. I squint
my eyes and feel the icy sparks
against my cheeks. How winter!
Somewhere, in secret places
that I cannot see, birds are taking
shelter, wild animals are curled
into their fur. Such harshness!
And yet we survive. How amazing!
Such adaptability. Such a marvel.