Faith from Winter

The snow glistens with a plastic sheen of ice

Under the monochromatic Ansel Adams moon.

Trees silhouette their bare spires against the cathedral sky,

And the crunch of snow beneath our boots heralds

The first steps to paradise.

We caress the backbone of the hill with our footsteps

And our voices under this open sky are a song of praise

To the invisible real God who inhabits this place.

The cold wind opens a small space in my heart.

There is not death here

Only a re-beginning of life.

This entry was posted in Poetry by bgm1969. Bookmark the permalink.

About bgm1969

This blog is updated by a guy who’s overweight, silly, Liberal, spiritual rather than religious, infatuated with beauty and grace, musically blessed, and always changing.

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