A Winter Poem

Monastery Grace

Nose pressed against the window screen
A frigid burst I feel.
Winter’s cold prairie air brushes
against my cheek.
Old church bells in the distance ring
tones in synchronized beat.
Soft snow reaches to touch
the warmth of human skin,
Melting into oblivion until,
nothing is left but a trace
of dampness on my face.
The wind sounds gather now.
I hear because I am silent.
I breathe the moistured gust,
breathe out the blood-warmed breath.
In sacred stillness my soul
is draped with richest grace.

                            Renee Miller