I.
Today, I will not think about pain
or insufficiencies of character,
the snow banked up all around
need not be the end of the story.
Why is it that during the last storm
I was able to bring patience
with my broom and slowly sweep away
the great accumulation?
In the night, the deer stripped
the shrubbery
and somehow, through grace, I was
stripped of nightmares and indulgent
brooding
The deer know what it takes to survive a winter
their leavings a language we all understand.
II.
There is a ridgeline above the house
and over it, the sun pours in the morning
if it is not obscured by weather,
and it is a dazzling, momentous moment
where shadow is eclipsed in a few seconds
and with wind such as today
the air is crystalline as snow sifts through,
skimmed from the trees.
Such a light is relentless
it reaches into the house like
a giant hand
that will turn you, that will see your face
“You must,” it says
deftly lifting you out of yourself
where all the pitfalls of humanity
are laying about in the aftermath
of their great debauch
and you know that this is a weight you need not carry
“You must,” is the light’s refrain
as you slip on your coat and boots, open the door
and make for the top of the ridge.
