Nothing but bright sunshine
as though the landscape,
unmarred by footprints
or even the flutter of bird wing
pieces together a quilt of loveliness
in the silence of sunrise,
the deep quiet of morning
World opens—
snow dusting cedars and crisp ground,
banking against the fence,
piling on rails.

As the fence curves out of sight
Heart dares to give over,
to release the tightness as it receives
this fallen snow on our mother earth,
dappled now with hushed mist of morning,
full of spirit under father sky—

How it swells, hope, like a fine spray
over mountains, yet clear enough
for us to rush, breath held, with what
we can give, with what we have to give.