The God of All Weather

The world has been white for some time.
Ice lies below it all. The temperatures are frigid
and there is no warming on the horizon.

I fight asthma that only shows itself in the cold,
the lungs shut down. Breath has to be fought for.
It is a hard season, but every season has its horrors

and its joys. WInter is the season of definition.
Branches silhouette against the snow.
Red barns and dark abandoned ones stand out.

So much gets covered. The debris and the trash
and the parts and pieces needed for repairs
waiting for another season.

So much can wait in winter. It should be
a lesson for the other seasons. WInter is
a season of what is important, nothing more.

Warmth. Food. Someone to love
and be loved by. The ability to see
God of All Weather, internal and external both.

The shoveling done, you listen
to the silence and the wheeze. You pray
thanksgiving for breath,

And all the other things that are truly
important. Glad to have the rest,
if only for a while, buried.

About this poem

There has been snow on the ground for a long while here in Vermont. Born in Virginia, Vermont winters were a revelation to me. One that surprised me in how much I would like them. For all the hardship winter brings, it also brings what is for me, an otherworldly beauty. I don’t mind being snowbound now and again.

Life has its seasons. Each has its joys and its horrors. Quite often simultaneously. Quite the adventure, life. Something to learn every season, as we prepare for the next.

The photograph was taken just outside of town.

Tom