A shifting drift on the mountain ridge maneuvers
as a fresh layer of frozen white settles into the Earth.
The bluest of blue skies seems to hold in the coldness,
as chipmunks burrow
a little deeper, to escape the cold
and the watchful eyes of the hawk perched high
in the pine trees.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
When snowflakes start us dreaming,
with a softness descending
there is usually peace enfolding
before the end
of the storm.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
As I walk through the forest unseen, blending into the trees
God speaks
in the tall branches.
Usually He is very quiet
as I listen
to the silence of the leaves
in the wind.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
In our prayer flow we become the river,
infused healing
filling our words
and phrases.
Spirit poems
from hearts
renewed.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
As the sun sets, after the storm
something similar to hope
can be born,
a tangible presence
in the winter sky.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Future generations will marvel at our survival,
how we walked through the fire,
and made it
to the other side.
Note: from the Apocalyptic Journal
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
It was snowing that night the wall was completed, not many noticed, tired of the fight.
Yet some conservatives rejoiced in their victory, believing the Enemy was defeated and that they could rest in their holiness once again.
However, the angels in Texas, bowed their heads with tears in their eyes,
began praying for all those stuck inside the Fortress, for those believing that somehow,
in some way, they were righteous, and so having turned their backs
on the poor.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
