Friday, December 9, 2011

a delicate stasis

It always snows on the feast of the Immaculate Conception.

Walking out into the enclosed yard.
The green grass and tree, the mud and the rocks are covered in a shroud--
Delicate and diaphanous, but slowly thickening.
Minuscule microscopic hexagons- gelid paragons of beauty
Accumulate on the ground.

Descending from the sky, in immutable silence.
The calm of the evening intensified and solidified by the falling flakes.
The snow caps the top of the picket fence-
Small, snowy Everests, and we at their feet.
Hushed, we dance in the snow.

The cold goes unnoticed,
The snow sings in silence-
Christmas
Magical whirls of joy flit through the air-
Trembling trepidation reverberating with each flake.
Christmas snow, wrapping the world in a fluffy blanket.

It always snows on the feast of Mary.


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