Woods are all around

Dearly Beloved,

Grace and Peace to you.

The woods are all around, all around.
Night sky wraps itself about me,
snow cherubs sitting in the trees,
ornaments made of stars
hanging in bare branches,
the snow rounding everything up
to the next nearest shape.
The snow, not cold enough to squeak,
shuffles as I walk, making sounds
like turning over in bed.
A skinny, pre-pubescent moon
follows me without wavering.
I walk out into the meadow, look up,
and the trees are gone but not the ornaments,
or the shy little moon.
I remember riding in a car, real young,
dark out, forehead against the window,
amazed that the moon rode with us,
shooting through the trees, slipping
behind buildings and reappearing,
so calm, right there, staring at me.
All these years later, she’s still here.
Standing on the belly of the earth
I can feel the earth breathing in her sleep
under this dream of snow.
What you said to me walks beside me;
I turn around and even in the dark
there is it, breathing little clouds.
I carry the bundle of my body out here,
with warmth I got earlier, from the sun
I guess, and from food from some far places.
My blood is a wild animal that stalks,
close, always hidden. My breath isn’t mine;
each breath is given to me and given again,
though I can’t see it in the dark. I believe
I am made of this stuff: snow and stars and
puffs of breath. Turning for home,
I think there is no such thing
as all alone.

Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve


Copyright © 2010
Steve Garnaas-Holmes

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