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I am listening to the roar and quiet of winter
to a beauty that sometimes remains unseen.
I am listening to the seed hidden in the earth
to the dark swallowing up the light
to faith rising out of doubt
to the need to believe without seeing.
I am listening to storms raging out my window
to storms raging in my heart
to all that makes me pull my cloak a little tighter
to trust buried deep in the ground of my being.
I am listening to the kind permission of the season
to rest more often
to reflect more deeply
to pray without words.
I am listening to the sacrament of non-doing
to the quiet life in winter’s womb
to bare trees, so lovely in their emptiness,
to winter, nurturing spring
I am listening to the poetry of winter.
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