The dark wall of trunks
mark the boundary between garden
and miles of forest.
I can see the front line—
two fluffed out spruce trees,
the fair gashes of a lone aspen
and the long cream scars of an old oak
standing out against the darker pillars.
But beyond those immediate personalities
mystery shadows itself.
in the later morning,
the snow starts,
brilliant white filtering down,
then nudged sideways by the wind.
And lifting my head,
the forest illuminated from beneath
I think about how to carry light,
just this honestly
just this inevitably
just snowflakes of God shining
and smudging the boundary of our eyes.
Find the entire poetry collection This Nurturing Awe: Poems Inspired by the 99 Beautiful Names of God at