Secret Cove

The barren season
moves with
stealth behind the
scenes of autumn,
steadily edging
toward the razor
cold and lacy veil
of ice and crystal.
Then suddenly
she falls, winter’s
glorious mystique
reveals in a day. In
sparkling white
layers, she
manifests
and penetrates
deeper than
surface chill
and snowdrift
for earth and
sea turn to stone.
I am forced
to stop too.
Winter’s brutal
artistry is blinding
and treacherous—
extravagant and
extreme.

It’s the season of
intimate fireside
fellowship,
deepened love,
reflection,
listening, and
drawing up
spring’s blueprints.
It’s the space to
embrace retreat
and the road less
worn in preparation
for tomorrow’s
advancement.

The savage beauty
of winter is not to
fear for I have
prepared for this
day by learning to
listen and hold
steady in a secret
cove. In that
storm shelter, l’ve
knitted scarlet
hats and mittens
for my children
and refreshed in
pools of weeping.
There light gulps
darkness and iron
hope turns to gold.
I’ve leaned hard
upon the heart
of the Ancient
of Days and
heard Him
laugh, and there
I laughed too.
©️Bonnie Saul Wilks