It happens ever so often
I stop, realize,
the scene before me
this place where I live
is simply, profoundly

First light last night’s snow
slipped lightly on the trees
has marked, outlined
winter gray branches
down to the tiny twigs
snow rests
not even clinging
just lofted down quietly
as if it is sleeping there

With the dawn a little breeze
makes it look like its snowing
but only from the tree tops down!

Just the other day
we awakened to the Hoar frost painting
roadside weeds glistened in the sun
trees and bushes were wrapped
in Christmas wrappings
all white
closer looks saw
chrystaline shapes
so fragile
laced so finely
Soon the morning sun appeared
and chased it all away
back to winter’s gray!

Nighttime frigid air
driving along a terminal moraine
I could see for miles and miles
sharp black night pierced by stars
high in the sky and across the prairie
the night lights of the farmsteads
all quiet
the earth and me, so small I
so magnificent the scene

The Creator is indeed
If we just stop to see, to listen
There, all of the time….