Reflections on the ski slope (and in my kitchen)
Afternoon sun on winter mountains—
Liquid gold.
Pooling in bowls of stone and snow,
Rippling through raw ravines,
Splashing the tips of wind-swept pines,
Swirling
upon the slopes below.
And Earth sucks eagerly at its rims,
drinking it deep but not dry,
yearning for that warmth in its crystal depths.
The chill season seems barren,
but the heavens provide—Another hour,
Another day,
Another promise of life.
The Earth sings
(and my soul)
in praise of its hope ‘gainst the dark and the cold.
The One who created the
pine-covered hills and the snow-covered bowls,
and to wash them all well,
the warm Liquid gold.
