When each tree is dressed in its winter-best
And earth is tucked deep ‘neath a downy spread
When green-sheen turns plush as a splendid hush
Wraps all creation in frost-whispered thread
When hope’s gracious Giver unfurls a white river
In snowflake fathoms of sugar-spun lace
When mortality reads God’s poetry
Spelled not with ink, but in colors of grace
We pause on its page, speechless and spellbound
Surely we are treading on holy ground
When white is a cape and the sky is its drape
As heaven and landscape coalesce
Picket-fence, pine and brooding timberline
Dissolving into amaranthine tress
Where every gust is a sparkle-thrust
Of diamond deliverance; each dull rampart
Transformed to a thing fit for any king
Who here can imitate this Painter’s art?
As each cheerless sprig is grand; glory-crowned
Surely we are standing on holy ground
When riot of red is shivered and shed
Save for the garnet of crab-apple gem
When bud bled bare is an echo somewhere
Beneath barred bastion of blizzard-hem
Where farm battle-field of labor is sealed
Seed-time and harvest in ordained repose
Soft, we recall summer’s mute madrigal
Of mist-mantled morning and dew-kissed rose
We touch the fringe of Someone awesome-gowned
Surely we are living on holy ground
© Janet Martin
We are in a blizzard warning; school’s cancelled, we are bracing
for severe, maybe even record-breaking cold temps! Yesterday was much milder, perfect for skiing. Since the ice-storm two
weeks ago the snow on ice has created perfect cross-country skiing conditions;
all the fields completely covered.
The Mighty One, God, the Lord
speaks and summons the earth
from the rising of the sun
to its setting.
Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty,
God shines forth. Ps. 50:1-2
