Snowmobiling with a friend Saturday evening;
Two miles to Dubila’s Farm, then
Revving across a field to the Work Farm Trail.
The ice storm of the day before
Bends the boughs of the large pines
That border the path
Until they nestle into each other.
Crystallized moisture serves as mortar
That cements them into graceful arches.
They seize our light and radiate it,
Glistening in their fresh whitewash
Of a powdery new snow.
Those of us who worship nature
Know that she can be a cruel God as well,
Capricious in her moods
Devastating in her anger
Inscrutable
Unfathomable
Tonight though, she’s a gentle deity
Whose magic has transformed the forest
Into the holiest of places;
A cathedral of beauty.
The trunks of the trees become pillars,
The boughs alabaster arches,
The gently falling snowflakes
The light of the Word.
Ron and I shut off our engines.
It seems like a moment to embrace the quiet.
We pass the flask that we’ve brought with us.
The warmth of wine,
The quiet of the woods,
Silent reflection
Communion
Reverence
Softly falling snow
Anoints our cheeks with flecks
Of moisture
Nature’s benediction
Gentle as a lover’s kiss
Welcome as a blessing.
