In Humble Adoration

Winter’s dismal cold,
when every breath
was an op art sculpture,
was more than a season;
it was a miracle of survival
where even I,
who sometimes struggles
with each step,
walked on water.
Of course it was frozen;
everything was
and along the margin of the bay
where daffodils will bloom in spring,
I slow stepped
in boots with tread so thick
it would make Michelin proud.
Everybody knows it takes a sturdy sole
to stay upright in winter.
Thank you Lord
for an encouraging calendar
and the hint of green
on my lawn.


On the Wings of a Setting Sun

Atop the hill day makes its goodnight cry
in flame-red hues of myth and mystery,
Divine creation with a  breathy  sigh
burnishes earth in golden artistry.

Would I were that speck in majestic flight,
the wing’ed sparrow soaring high above
unfettered by melancholy twilight
nor taunted by the specters born thereof.

To feel the rush of wind beneath such wings,
to coast on currents warm with fading sun,
What makes the faith that lets the caged bird sing?
What wisdom lets a finished day be done?

Last vestiges of sun slip from my gaze
as melancholy turns to words of praise.

Just me and God in a Frozen Field

Not long ago
this frozen stubble
held leftovers
from a bountiful harvest.

It held a raucous flock
filling up, gearing up
for the great migration.  Suited
with layers of feathers and fat

and strong wings
that lifted them aloft,
they left
for some magical land

that is a stranger
to winter.
it is almost spring:

Time for the creeks to be thawing;
time for the air to be warming.
Oh glorious time,
the flock will soon be returning.

An Ardent Accord

After the January thaw,
that midmonth excitement
of rising water and new buds,
a moment of innocence;
then we realized winter was not done.

After the February freeze
wilted the dreams of forsythia
and one courageous crocus peeking
boldly out of the snow, we suffered
a sort of amnesia as if we were stunned

by the strength of the millions
of snowflakes, no two exactly alike;
each dancing to its own tune
yet united by the joy of being,
thus changing the face of stone.