Howling like scorned wolves buried in the dead

of a winter’s night, cold arctic hallowing calls.

Feeding upon nature’s gifts, abundant only while

eyes allow our hearts to understand our worth

swept apart by God’s mighty hand of decision

we beckon to the call of our own shallow vanity.

~

Listen to the wind share melodic tones sweeping

through the pines and thistle bound forests

whose world remains quiet to our own needs,

only to become vibrant soon after we step away.

We hear chants as our toes and heels crush the ice

Of roadway freeze, wondering aloud our distant lives

~

if ever there were an opportunity to understand Her

natural hold on our lives, well beyond the conversation.