In the Drifts of Words

4360906179_e7400abbf7_o“You do not have to offer great spiritual visions, I only ask that you look.” St. Teresa of Avila

Emerging from blog hibernation, into a frosty Charleston night. Waiting for snow (maybe?), and offering these borrowed words to rekindle the writing fire ~

“In the bare images of winter’s speech, day and night still talk to us about the presence of the sacred, a presence as common as a rabbit’s track in snow, a bare tree leaning over a dark river, the comfort of snowy mountains, long, long nights, china blue at the edge of the fire, a cold moon above empty woods, slowly falling snow under street lamps, the crowded waiting room at the doctor’s office, standing stock still on skis, one’s face looking back in the evening window, mid-morning dark, tiny birds huddled together on a branch, a train whistle disappearing into the cold night, a herd of cows all gathered at a fence, leaving footprints for fresh, deep snow, a hotel lobby’s sudden warmth, first car tracks down the street, after the storm an ax sounding in the woods, snow flying swiftly into the car’s headlights, all the graves covered, my mother’s voice, a cat curled in a doorway, a mighty branch breaking in the yard cracking the night open, a thousand white roofs, one star outshining all the others, sunshine for a morning and childhood returns, will spring come again, my coat so warm, morning’s brief shy–hint of another world. Earth is crammed with heaven as someone wrote, sphere follow other writers, witnesses of the subtle, companions for winter days and nights, strugglers in the drifts of words, observers of fine lines, of slender realities hidden in the images and motions of mind and landscape, winter seers, spotters of the Divine Hare against an expanse of white.”  

from The Journal of Sam Martin  

found, amidst many other treasures, in  An Almanac for the Soul  by Marv & Nancy  Hiles



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