The Winter Garden

A poem.

The Winter Garden

Silent and still, the garden sleeps.
Crooked fence posts stand sentry, starkly contrasted against the brilliant landscape.
A single glass totem sits, tilted and topped with snow. Temporarily forgotten.
Barbed wire sags lazily, resting in wait of it’s required vigilance.
Remnants of ragged twine dangle loosely, motionless.
Brittle and greyed corn husks defy the authority of the commanding white mantel, escaping it’s grip by inches, in denial of their demise, unaware of the life they shield at their feet.
Folding topography of ripples and mounds an intimation of the graves of last year’s remains.
Tatters of tomato vines and pea plants leech nutrients into the soil, preparing a bed for their progeny.
Seeds slumber under the shimmering arm of winter, sheltered from harm.
Life quietly awaits instruction from the Almighty God to resume.

Nature: Works of God

What if math is beautiful?

environment forest grass leaves
Photo by mali maeder on Pexels.com

Organic cathedral constructed under God’s direction

Architect of perfection

Wild shapes and patterns conceal sublime mathematical formulae

Arches bow in natural geometry

Divine order concealed beneath seeming chaos

Tale etched in rock, microbe, DNA, atoms

Poetry scripted in God’s hand

Story without beginning or end

Unedited by malice or choice

Unmarred by Ego

Every moment now

Every place one

Seen from the unseen

Known from the unknown

Matter from nothing

Imagined by the Creator