Along the river are trees,
bowed and burden by snow.
They are beautiful,
Their hoary loads cold and sharp.
And as I walk by, I involuntarily
grab the tip of one of the trees
and gently tug to release it of its burden.
The snow and hoarfrost slough
from its branches with a hoarse whisper
and I am surprised to see
that even unburdened,
it only rises a matter of inches.
And this becomes my prayer tonight:
not for salvation,
but that God would come by and gently tug
around my edges
and that as the cold and hoarfrost begins to slough away
I would rise, ever so slightly —
to wait in silence and expectation,
for warmer days.