Tag: ice

poem: sliver light

Silver light streamed
through clouds
pregnant with snow.
The fragile, warbling rays
were enough to turn
the white blanket
that so recently
conquered the landscape
into innumerable fallen stars.

Every tree branch
wore a coat of ice,
dazzling translucence.

The sight filled me
with profound joy.

For the first time
in weeks,
i felt the dance
of words and verse
move through my soul.

 

asha fenn, December 2017

Lent

Long before I got baptized, the practice of Lent intrigued me.  In some ways, this is the hardest time of the year – winter creeps toward spring, but not always with the speed we would like.  Whatever reserves – psychological, financial and physical – that had been gathered to get through the season have begun to run very thin indeed. While this applied more to our ancestors more than we fortunate people gifted with modern conveniences, the end of winter requires both discipline and courage to get through. Mortality confronts us in the naked branches and frozen ground, mitigated by fantasies of warmth and flowers.

Driving back from Bangor this morning, I followed the frozen river.  Chunks of ice had worked their way through the level layer of ice over the water.  Underneath, the river continues to flow, it’s waves and movement invisible underneath the impassive smoothness.  It seemed like an appropriate allegory to me – the cold of winter incubating the change and growth and ebullience that will be spring.

Hopefully people are like that as well – holding pattern in one state before bursting forth with transformation.