Child’s Religion

This early morning quiet / Many inches on the ground / Falling softly still, six-fifteen / Straight down, not a sound….

This early morning quiet
Many inches on the ground
Falling softly still, six-fifteen
Straight down, not a sound.

The sagging branches, wet white
Up north Dakota Territory
The way of it at thirty degrees
Another clean winter story.

Tip toe up and down
Whisper softly to each one
No school today, ice and snow
Maybe heaps before it’s done.

Really seriously can’t believe
Never happened before
Thank you, Jesus, and
Please send some more.

Snow-covered wind spinner

Woodsmoke

There are times in life
When it seems important to get away,
Away from all the petty worries,
Time to change night into day.

Those are times to look up old friends,
Go out to a special place
And light a fire,
Let the woodsmoke drift into my face.

We laugh, joke and let the smoke
Get into our eyes,
Into our hair, clothes and lungs
To wash away all the lies.

We watch the sun go down
In splendid reds, pinks and blues.
Conversation stays light
Through all of these hues.

The darkness closes us in,
Swallows the elms into night.
They become ominous shadows
Outside the globe of light.

Darkness shrinks the universe,
We are all that is left.
The fire becomes the sun,
We are stars set adrift.

With all the world gone
We feel free to talk aloud
To people we can trust,
Free from the threatening crowd.

Each of us then speaks,
All in turn,
Of what is happening,
Why our souls burn.

The smoke from the flames
Does not sting or maim;
It washes over us all,
Cleanses, takes away pain.

The fire is at the center.
We talk to the burning light
And all our worries
Drift with the smoke into the night.

When I return the next day
Mother makes me bathe
To wash the woodsmoke away.
But it stays with me.

 

Personal logo of Martin C. Fredricks IV

© 1990 Martin C. Fredricks IV