Dead branch fingers reach In supplication, Adoration framing Her round fullness In the silverpale sky; The clouds try to cover Her, Fly before Her, but Reflected radiance chases Them away until They sweep ’round Her, Circling the orb with Crystalline prisms of shattered rainbow light.
This night is hushed– Thin blanket of snow Sprinkles silence with each unduplicated flake. Winter’s kiss falls softly, The percussion of bare limbs Makes muted rhythm behind The melody of wind.
The world waits under this Sliver perfection, paused in One eternal instant, Open and awake within the Quiet winter somnolence: She knows Hibernation is not sleeping, Meditation is not dreaming, And stillness is the Center of every dance.
Tonight, the dancing meets the pause, A holy pas de deux– Whirling snow rising upon the soft, cold winter wind, Hanging for that illuminated second, Weightless in the crisping air, Until She breathes once more; The stillness cracks, And we dance again Around the axis of the world.