The Grindstone

Winter is an old grey grindstone
Sharpening tool and consciousness.
A keen edge is needed
To divide dark from light, do from not-do
In the dimness of Winter's cloudy days.

Water keeps the grindstone edge cool.
One must bear down to sharpen the tool.
Stone and steel meet and shriek
Water drains back into the trough.
The wheel turns, cranking around and around.

The Winter bite sets in, its keen edged wind
Sharpened without my help,
Carves away at my optimism, making me forget to pray.
Darkness swamps effort and energy when I let it.
I must stiffen my resolve and press harder.

Consciousness needs a keen edge
To stand against Winter weather,
I hold fast to hope and push away despair.
The great grey stone turns and turns
I press against it sharpening my will.

Ice Transformation

Green needles furred with ice
Change shrubs and trees
Into shiny beasts
Hulking against the sides of houses.

The ice fattens branches,
Sheathing buds in glistening.
Icicles, falling bits frozen in mid-drop
necklace clotheslines, twigs, fence rails.

Creation is newly decorated.
Eyes are refreshed by new shapes
Old facades vanish in renewal
Magic lingers in every glance.

Bouquet of Promise

Silver slivers sparkle.  New made sun
Returning from dark nights and grey days
Thrusts brightness upon air,
Shines up heart strings
Polishing Winter dulled yearnings
Stretched taut with longing for Spring.

Against blue sky, ice coated branches-
Shear beauty crackling and breaking as it melts-
Fling Winter's defiance. Joyous shouts,  orgasms of beauty
Symphonies of pealing bells herald
The divine movement/moment
Passage of stillness into ecstasy and back.

Color glistens where light meets crystal.
Pinpoints of red, green, gold
Dart into eye and out again
Helping us remember beauty where we look.
Light of Spring calls forth from Winter
Promise of all that will garnish earth
In time to come. Even as it melts
I cherish wistfully this first bouquet of light.