She Thought of Painting

She thought of painting
the morning into being,
of darkness shot with light,
a riot of royal hued color
and a rippling shimmer
 on leaves of heartbreak gold.

She wondered how to paint
the sound of birdsong,
or the scent of coffee
and wood smoke.
She thought of painting
the glory of the day
and the joy of it,
the sheer exaltation of it.

 She let her thoughts drift,
like petals on water,
and she stilled
while the sun warmed her.

For Julie
With love

A Hosanna of Cold

Winter crisp,
sharp-edged glitter-
Oh!
That leaf-strewn path,
once edged in gold and
a suddenness of blue
now lies
sheathed
in silver and white and grey,
Startled by shadows.
I could not see where earth began and horizon ended,
but bare branches held up the sky,
unbowed,
and evergreen altars
laden with snow and the
remembrance of spring
Unbound.
God's voice danced through ice and air
that stung my eyes
and burned my lungs,
and I sang
There on the edge of winter,
As the sky
     the earth
          the horizon
Pearled
with the rising of morning,
I sang an exaltation of
Light,
A hosanna of
Cold,
my soul returned.