Dark grey skies
have strewn ten
wintry inches (and
more is falling!)
on our ordinarily
bustling suburb.
What can hide
from the blind
bleak white of the
fresh-strewn
snow?
            But maybe
not so bleak.
It's new. It's pure.
It enlivens
drowsy eyes.
Snow is a queen
of candour, of
splendour. It is
deep pervading
soul-solace in
the midst of
worry and woe.
It is grace, it is
prayer that God
makes to herself,
that earth receives
as sacrament,
as communion.
 
And ancient trees,
all gnarly and
knotted up (those
tough old bastards!)
leave off their
grudges, abandon
reluctance and
raise their hands
in this sacred
dance of winter
stillness, to take
and embrace this
soft cold blessing.