This poem was inspired on a late February afternoon, while I was driving on a rural road across an unspoiled field just outside of Bozeman, Montana. The felt sense of these verses were so intense that I didn’t take a photo. So I’m grateful for this gorgeous shot by my friend Ross Brunson which captures the feeling of that exquisite day.
Here, too, is the Garden—
though an earthly delight
discovered on my way home
from driving in the mountains.
Prompted to take a different route
I turn a country corner
when the unexpected appearance of
an untouched field of purest snow
gently glistening in the
fading late-day sunlight
plunges my heart into tearful elation.
How can such simplicity
evoke such sudden ecstasy,
such grandeur of vision
as if untold possibility were to exist
behind its unblemished façade?
‘Tis true, that underneath
the frozen covering
myriad plants and creatures
slumber until springtime
calls them to a fresh exuberance.
Yet today the scene is tranquil,
unhurried, softly silent,
seemingly content to be at rest.
And though February’s days are lengthening,
the winter sun makes no demands
on this small corner of the world
nor on its owner who is, no doubt,
happy to enjoy a bit of hibernation.
So am I called to be at peace
upon the landscape of my earthly days
to leave a certain portion free,
untrammeled by thought or deed.
My buoyant heart says this is so—
for springtime will come soon enough
and I will be glad to have rested up
for adventures promised
by a clean white page of life
manifesting as a perfectly undisturbed
field of purest snow.
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