Saturday afternoon the snow started slowly. Being warm the flakes became thick. I started my walk catching some of it, missing most of it. I am not aware enough to be aware of everything. I must leave some for the saint’s creative contemplation or the monk’s mindful meditation.
The snow came down thicker and more beautifully as I walked back through sparkling white. I did not expect so late in my grey year to have so many blessings as if my impatience and despair had been forgiven.
GREY SKY WITH WHITE OWL
WAITING IN THE SNOW-FILLED TREE
LOOK–HE FLIES AWAY
Conspiracy theories come in pairs. There’s the nutty theory I won’t believe in, because–well–it’s nutty, and there’s the opposite theory that, for some possibly nutty reason, I do. Motivated enough I could likely prove anything is true, which doesn’t imply that nothing is true.
Every time I take a stand I lock the front door, but I keep the back door open to offer protection to those good folk polarized in the same direction that I am. If there are monsters coming at me, this is a reasonable thing to do. Often I am pleasantly surprised by who comes through the back door seeking and offering protection. Sometimes it is the very people I thought would be storming the front door. Sometimes I look out the window on the front door after a major storm and see blue skies, pleasantly surprised at the absence of monsters.
The day turned cold and dark. We went to bed.
Our eyes closed on a starry, winter’s night.
Visitors appeared and we were led
Through lost, forgotten, ancient, truer light.
Their messages grew clear with inner sight.
When morning showed the brightness of fresh snow,
Those secrets we uncovered we let go.
Text: Linked to dVerse Poetics. Lillian is hosting with the prompt word “visit”.
White, white, white and snowy bright
The snowscape piled high last night.
Winter wrapped its evening show
With spread-on-thick, wet, wondrous snow.
Today will bounce reflected light
From sad-cloud gray to spot-on white.
Light can come from anywhere.
The Sun won’t interfere
Though earlier it owned the sky.
The Moon is full. The buildings rise.
The snow-like stars and star-like snow
Reminds one of the cold.
There is a bridge from here to there
And back again from there to here
Off-center and below
That maps attempt to document.
Is there a narrative in this?
Has someone sent a secret kiss
That sets in motion someone bold?
Is there somewhere some consciousness
That daydreams as the night grows old?
This night’s still young, too wise to care.
It’s cloud-hazed, bright and anywhere.
Linked to dVerse OLN hosted by Grace.
Photography: “Red, White and Dark” by the author.