Silent Sanctuary

(Last weekend I went cross country skiiing at Donald Park, south of Mt. Horeb. I used to live near there and grew attached to the holiness of its space. Paintings were born there as were deeper regions of me. I ran there in all seasons....July's black raspberries and August's blackberries caused frequent sweet interruptions. This time, winter's unique silence stopped me in my tracks more than once. It was too cold to paint, but sketches are underway from my photos).

The palpable stillness of the forest
enfolds me;
my pulse slows toward that of
a turtle hibernating below the frostline.
Snow covered shoulders of oak and arms of maple
attend the silence.
Far from rigor mortis, these giants and saplings
create a cellular communion of awe and respect.
Near the sanctuary of white pines
I stand motionless again.
Were it not for the white carpet being frozen,
I'd remove my shoes to enter.
Each branch and twig
bears its share of fresh wollen snow
My mouth open as if to taste the succulent silence.
No greater gift can be given or received.
At days end I sleep with its blessing
and can bless.