Declining to the soil.
An unearthing is too soon a toil.
As the ravaged trees…breathe, ‘a sigh of relief.’
The ground embraces a reminder of a savior’s grace.
Alas, all emerges free.
As far as, I am privileged to see, there is no need for organized spirituality.
Pockets of snow remain the last vestiges …
Glacial reminders of being untamed.
Welcomed are the tufts of emerald blades, virgin and well-defined.
Rural…is the only thought that comes to mind.