Winter Psalm

Boston snowbound, Logan closed, snowplows and salt-trucks flashing yellow, drifts tall as a man some places, visibility poor, I sit by the window and watch the snow blow sideways north-northeast, hot cup in hand, robe over pajamas. You have made me to seek refuge and charged me to care for my brothers. How cruel. That could be You out there howling, cracking the trees, burying everything. What could I possibly want from You that would not undo the whole world as it is?