A Winter Pilgrimage
A poem
A poem
I step outside, the bracing air a wall I push against.
Breath plumes, whipped away by an impatient wind
hurrying the season along.
I follow its lead, boots crunching swift rhythm
through the frosted grass.
In this stark cathedral, my scattered thoughts finally cohere,
as the cold clarifies, and the low sun sanctifies my upturned face.
I move through zones of shadow and gold,
darkness always chased by emerging light.
All else falls away on the winding trail.
No past or future, only the present’s invitation forward.
Limbs loose and lithe, I ascend small graces,
a veil lifted, a wider vista revealed.
Against the brushstroke sky, barren trees recite their poetry
of withholding and return.
Cloaked in stillness, the sleeping land whispers of renewal
ever awaiting beneath the surface.
I meander on, lured by far white spires.
As I climb, my gaze turns inward, observing my restless mind
settling like snowflakes falling soft to rest.
I emerge cleansed, grateful for lungs inflated,
heart beating devotion.
In the distance, a lamp glows
steady through deepening twilight.
The unknown path continues, but for now,
warm conviction comes into view,
a refuge waiting to envelop me in familiar arms.
Onward I stride, deep roots growing with each step.