photograpy, poetry, winter


Somber morning, 
Dark clouds hang 
Low in northern sky. 
Beyond the river, 
Barely visible, 
A streak of light 
Kisses the hills. 
Below my ridge,
Drab fields and 
Bare, dark trees 
Stretch heavenward.

Until the sun arrives,

Spilling brilliant rays
Across the valley, 
Turning all to gold.

Isn’t that how it is some days? 

All looks dark and depressing until God rushes in and transforms the landscape of our circumstances.

Ariseshine, for your light has come, 
and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.
Isaiah 60:1

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