A dusting of snow
glows on the grass
beneath the light
mounted on the pole
in the neighbor’s yard.

This did not come
with the hard, killing chill
of prairie storm
but from a quiet passing
in the night,

easing through
in view of darkness,
sifting into blades of grass,
holding still in the calm cold
of a winter’s night.

There was no hint
of its coming,
no telling moaning of wind
or stirring bending
of branch and limb.

Just this quiet white paleness
holding still in the calm cold
of an old man’s body
and family calls
made before dawn.

Prayers answered.
Tears.
Relief and grief
in this strange mingling
that comforts and afflicts.

H. Arnett
2/15/13