Walking on Ice

The frozen crust of the blizzard 
from nearly two weeks ago 
still holds hard in the deep cold 
that came with it and yet lingers. 

Wind chills below zero 
barely yielded to short spells of slightly warmer air
that melted some spots and swatches, 
mostly where the thirty mile an hour wind 
kept the blanket too thin to gather much.
Bare curves of dead grass 
mark the sinuous passing
of earth’s gentle bends.

Yesterday, the sun’s long glare
glazed a thin but deadly shine
on the hard-packed ice
at the top of the driveway.

I shuffled my way tenuously,
keeping cautious grip on the Aussie’s leash,
afraid the least surge in her leading
might send me suddenly off balance,
landing in an altered phase of life.

There are times 
when the way to where we believe we need to go
offers no seemingly safe way of getting there.

And so, we move with the greatest care,
trusting more in fervent prayer and desperate faith,
seeking a way for feet of clay 
to walk the holy path that we hope 
lies before us.

Sometimes it seems we dare the Lord
to save us from our own pitiful wisdom,
wrestling with angels and struggling
to make God’s voice harmonize
with our own stubborn choices.


H. Arnett
1/23/25