Epiphany-tide, ordinary time
before our Lenten ashes and fasts
how extraordinary this time of silvered days
etched with gold
scented with resinous incense
of cedar
and myrrh

sweet grass braids 
draped across sturdy Saint Joseph
release their green scent
each time our door opens
to the cold wind
as the sound of angel wings
drift in with the snow

time enough for reflection
in iced panes
blue as the Madonna's shawl
that blue of trumpeting morning glories
and mourning that results in joy
ahh the quixotic nature 
of faith 
in light of all that would make it unseemly
and foolish

yet, here we are
in the ordinary time of Epiphany
praying for the scales
to be rubbed from our eyes
and the touch of a garment
to heal our stigmata wounds
chalking C M B along the lintel
and shoveling a path
on the road to Gethsemane

these last days

in this season
of bare trees and sepia toned landscape
when the world has gone mad

I can not help
but find beauty in these last days
each sun rise, a gift 
uncommon joy found in the light falling
on walls of faded pear and aquamarine

the bone structure of time
etched across the garden
the grace of winter in its quiet reflection
the freedom 

of loosing all constraints and ties
to whatever went before
until I am left
boundless, evergreen