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.