SkyEarth Letters

When it does not snow for ten straight days at the end of January
and the south-facing fields are lined with brown soddenness,
I wait -- in wonder at this odd run of days,
in wonder at the constancy of this winter sun.
It kept cold, though, until near the end of the storm-less span
when warmth crept into the breeze and cut the snow
into slurring ribbons and thawed dirt roads
into early ruts.
A day of misting rain drew closed the sunshine days
then winter returned with deep snowfall
reblanketing the exposed landscape.

During succeeding snowfalls I re-treaded the snow labyrinth's
winding path at dawn during this dark of the moon.
Yesterday it warmed to super-melting; water drained off the
eaves-formed icicles and snow settled and sogged.

This morning the east sky banded red beneath the cloud escarpment.
I walked out to the morning with camera as mist laid in the hollows
of the land and became amethyst as the sun crept nearer to the
crest of the mountains.
And amethyst poured into the clouds to the north, to the west, to the south
and poured out as the sun bloomed and coated the land and mist
with golden richness.

I walked with crows speaking of import,
chickadees whistling their mating calls,
starlings remember bird calls they chanced to hear
-- which give me pause as a thrush-like phrase suddenly rings out.

Warm air from the south flowed down the hillside as I walked while high clouds passed more swiftly to the northeast.

Such a morning! I sing,
"My Lord, what a morning, my Lord, what a morning."
an old Welsh hymn whose words I change at will to
"when the sun begins to shine. You'll hear the people sing to echo joy
around this earth, looking to my God's good hands, as the sun begins to shine."

Oh yes, songs bubble through my mind as I walk, sometimes I sing new words
to an old tune, more often new words to a new tune that makes itself up as
I walk along. And they fly from memory when the song's ended.

Before sunrise, the reflection of the red and gold sky gleams on the windows
of house and barn, shining brilliant jewels set in white clapboard.

The day is risen, and beauty has been before me, behind me, above me,
below me, beside me, and poured into me.

It creates hope in this otherwise morass of a world.

As I pray that the insane leadership of numerous countries are kept
from nuking us all.