From here in town
it looked like that low shroud
of winter gray touched the ground.

All day long
the freezing fog had held
close and cold like bad memories.

And so I’d hoped
for some good night shots
of softly glowing lights in muted air.

But when we drove up there
above the hill and away from the house
we found the freezing mist had thinned and lifted.

It’s not often
and I’ve tried hard
to keep from being disappointed

when things
seem to go a bit better
than what I had expected.

It’s a twisted spirit
that finds itself more comfortable
when the darkness deepens and draws close—

and a cold soul
that feels more at ease
in the presence of pain and ghosts.

Soon enough
it will be spring again
and I’ll walk this slope in warmer air,

cared for
and carried by
hands stronger than the seasons,

part of a plan
longer than my years
and greater than my reasons.

In that
I will rest
no matter how close the fog

nor how cold and deep the darkness.

H. Arnett
2/6/19