I think of winter as repose from flash, finesse, and fire.

After fall’s emblazoned dance,  rest is earth’s desire.

The grays and blands of winter’s sleep prepare us for the spring,

When life again has winged’ feet, with trilling song doth ring.

I envy not the slumber then as softly winter’s rain,

Prepareth sod of field and yard, the blooms of May to gain.

Methinketh that mine eye would fill without that sweet recess.

The dearth of winter wanes at last, as we with buds are blessed.

Much as the way of life itself the seasons mirror man.

We too have times of flash and fire and then recede again.

And some such time will be the last with rain upon the sod.

Then after rest, Behold the Blessed!  We’re welcomed home to God!

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hhickson's picture

Amen. Man has risen to the height he is most dangerous to him/herself. It remains to be seen if mankind will survive.