In the dry heart of winter,
the cold splinters around us,
shards of light cut through
night’s thinning darkness.
A teasing sun rises to the south
of what we believe is east,
bringing an illusion of heat
to leafless limbs and bare branches.
On other days,
a gray heaviness hovers around us,
hazy shadows shift slowly
in frozen passings.
Even through this mist of clouds,
a touch of Light still moves within,
easing clenched fist into outstretched hand,
whispering hope into a land of doubt:
“You live yet
and God still works within you.”