The low light of a slight crescent moon
barely shows through the thin clouds
of this January morning.
The cold crust of the earth lies below
in the darkness of a day
not yet fully formed.
The chores that cannot wait for brighter moments
are done in the dimness:
hay, water and feed.
The needs of the horses met,
Randa walks back toward the house
and its sheltering from the harsh of wind.
Beyond the bluffs and the bare-branched ridge,
in the thin cut between the over-hanging shroud
and the blackness of frozen ground,
a thawing sun sends its warming orange,
a glowing promise of what endures,
a comforting reminder of pure love
that holds our lives
beyond the cold and darkness,
beyond the cloud and storm:
he who has formed us
is always near
to those whose hearts yearn for him.