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 —

 

Just enough,

to wait in silence and expectation,

for warmer days.