light within light?

Was it Light?

Was it light?
Was it light within?
Was it light within light?
Stillness becoming alive,
Yet still?

A lively understandable spirit
Once entertained you.
It will come again.
Be still.
Wait.

-Theodore Roethke 1908-1963

icicles, from the window seat at St. Aidan's, photo by Bill

We’re deep in snow and fortunately don’t have to go anywhere. And the light! Long icicles along the front of St. Aiden’s catch the sunlight, creating a blinding crown around the house. The snow studded with minute crystals, glistens between fox tracks, the mosaic patterned footprints of birds under the feeder, the long blue shadows of tree trunks, and the paths Bill dug to the chicken house and to the driveway.

Beautiful January light unfolding into February, when Candlemas marks another turn of the year, ending Christmastide, anticipating the threshold of spring!  One day in February the land will sigh and let off a scent of earthy upheaval and after that, even late blizzards won’t stop new life pushing up through the snow, or the light from widening the boundaries of the day. I’ve already heard the chickadee calling the spring song. They know.

Now I’m supposed to say something pithy and spiritual. But I won’t. I’ll let the light silently speak.

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