Midweek reflection: Quiet sits with me when snow falls

wrote this poem almost exactly a year ago. Last night I saw it languishing in my drafts folder and with the fog of the past few days, I am compelled to finally share. It wasn't particularly foggy, per se, when I took the walk depicted below, but the gray was quite relentless, as it feels now.

I have been (very) shy with sharing this style of writing on the blog, but it's a way I do enjoy putting words together, and I appreciate when others share along a similar vein, so... here goes.

Snow prayer
Gray expanse of land
and air meet at the horizon in dull agreement.
Thick layers of fog and cloud
wrap the house, the pasture,
and spread across the valley,
up up up the hills
until they are pushed back
down by the sun, unseen below.

Cold in my chest but breathing
freely, I walk a brisk mile.
Hawks swoop, pheasants strut,
caught between seasons they eye me
through rows of forgotten grapes, across
damp acres of dirt, the promise
of wheat sprouts.

I yearn for snowflakes,
thick and fast.
Quiet sits with me
when snow falls. Blanketed
by soft flurries, the rushed world stills,
my anxious mind mothered
and soothed to sleep.

Give me the seclusion and distance
of snow for a little longer.
Insulation, denial.
Just one more snow, I beg.
A silent day, or two,
to pull the covers up, sit with myself.
This is my prayer
to the winter gods.