The winter confounds me.
\nI circle above its grayness.
\nI turn my eyes at a ceiling
\nwithout an artist
\nto paint summer time,
\nour celestial reverence.
\nBut it is beautiful.
\nIt has a purity and silence
\nthat humbles me.
\nMy windows open to hear a whisper.
\nI pull off my hood
\nto feel its hands on my head,
\nthe waft of a cold caress.<\/p>\n
Tomorrow is the end of this old year.
\nIt grew silver in a twinkling.
\nThings flowered and grew.
\nGood times with the children
\nin their water pool.
\nWatching them grow
\nin the play yard of the school.
\nWeddings and passings.
\nA quiet year that earth grew
\nthe chapel above me.
\nThat the trees reached further
\ntoward each other.
\nThat I saw a falcon perch above me
\nand I stood quiet before his solitude,
\nand kneeled inside.<\/p>\n
I do not know everything I must know
\nbefore my year ends.
\nThe winter challenges me
\nto paint its branches,
\nto put the colors of creation
\nback on its ceiling.
\nTo sing songs for its quiet places,
\nand plant seeds everywhere
\nfor harvesting.
\nAnd I wonder,
\nhow does one pick up a brush,
\nwrite a word,
\nput stone on stone
\nand make a wall,
\nwithout the faith of a child\u2019s heart
\nthat something returns our awe,
\nand loves us?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The winter confounds me. I circle above its grayness. I turn my eyes at a ceiling without an artist to paint summer time, our celestial…<\/p>\n