After a heavy snow

Earth and sky have coupled in the night,
the clouds have laid their body
down on the ground,
rounding, mounding everything,
disguised in white. Changed.
Every twig and branch is a word
in an unknown tongue, underlined in black,
bearing the weight of glory’s flesh.
Little saplings, snow-bent, bow in patient modesty.
The sun is absent,not moving.
Everything is still, silenced,
still contemplating what has happened.

Then a cloud moves.
Sun spills its golden confidence
into the blue woods,
a temple of surprises.

It is not too late to become a new person.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light

December 16, 2019

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