Meditating Snow

Behind still-blinding white, late day light,
The old sun wins last moments,
Streaks of yellow wheatgrass,
Bruised pink changed to violet
Descend into far back fields
Laced by black bare branches framing barn;
Silhouetting
Evening’s arrival.

Never one to dwell in air not grounded,
I raise my eyes to meet
What keeps me in my necessary world:
Hope, the choir's blend,
The invitation from the growing, dancing ground.

Season answers seeking with its changing light, and now,
Then-gone swift lumens of momentary grace.
I am guided by what I share with every breathing pilgrim:
The spark of choice and effort; the ken to see and knit
The claimed slices of day into the covering, gentle dark.

In the hollows of the night,
Praise hums, spinning gratitude that
Bands the disappearing hills.
Watching now, the bright of snow cast up
Gives deep way to
Sapphire stillness.