A Winters Night

There is no thing so peaceful As a winters night in the woods-- A canopy as black as pitch, Spangled with the pinpricks of a billion stars-- Shimmering. The banks of snow and downy flake, Turned to diamonds by the moonlight That drapes the sparkling, Rolling hills with a shawl of powder blue And midnight lace. The cold air, brisk and chill, Transforms my every breath to puffs of cloud, that trail away like Wisps of smoke, into nothingness. So peaceful is this winter wood--and still, Like foxes napping. No evidence of man exists-- He is not welcome here. I myself am an intruder, and gratefully. There are no prints, or marks, Save the tracks of a hungry deer. And the indecisive flurries fall, As if the stars themselves-- And lightly gather on my brow and lash. Then comes, and without warning, A gentle breeze--a timid thing Who asserts itself--reluctantly, And shy. It wanders through the powdered wood, Lightly stirring snow and pine. How comforting the rustle-- Just as reverent as a hymn. And the sweet scent of the Douglas Fur Consumes the sense and dulls the wit, Till I am thoughtless there; Save but one, this is a prayer-- The kind whispered as a child. Perhaps children would be welcome here, If they could quiet be; Although snowballs would be welcome In this place of sanctity. But awe the sound, I thoughtless hear A pinecone falling from a tree-- A sound that I would overlook Were I elsewhere but this wood. And that's the magic of the hymn; The magic of the prayer-- The magic of this powdered wood To be the more aware. And thankfully I ponder every flurry-- Every flake, every star And every diamond-- Every cloudy breath I take. Now the banks of blue Are a part of me-- This winter wood, my soul; And though soon I will be leaving, I will never really go. For there is no thing so peaceful As a winters night in the woods-- And there is no thing so quiet, As snow!