winns angels

I Wonder:
This was written shortly after Christmas. I was thinking about Good Friday.

The fog
Has lifted.
The hoar frost clings to the trees,
To the dry grass,
As if, for its own dear life.
I am walking that glorious spot.
Perhaps, I have walked it a million times.
The trees, as a forest,
Rise up the hill.
With their white coats, dark bark,
They are dressed for a Cinderella ball.
They need no excuse.
Mother nature has clothed them.
I wonder
If this is anything like Jesus saw
When he was dangling
From that cross.
There is such cold, crisp beauty.
Yet the skies are SO grey.
Doom seems to hang from them.
The contrast
It nearly takes my breath away.