Preface

In winter, it’s easy to feel cut off.
Dark falls early, sinks in like ice.
Wind licks at neck, whips tears
to eyes, leaves ears aching.
My heart pulls into a tight knot
like a child curling up to hide.

Everywhere the world cries out,
counsels sure-fire plans for crackling warmth
or crystallizes careful explanations
about why heat death is inescapable.

But another voice trickles underneath,
halts at first then picks up speed
like a thawing creek
in early spring,

like an unlearned boy
on his knees in a grove
praying aloud for the first time
at that turn of year when light
begins to return
in earnest.









Inspired by the Come, Follow Me readings for December 28-January 3

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