God is…

God is in the winter wings.
 The flight of driven snow
 through the sprawling branches of the trees.
 We hear Him in the howling winds
 That swirl the snow upon His face.
 
 Icebergs, flat barges of icy snow,
 swiftly flow downriver
 to a Great Lake,
 one of Her portraits of a sea,
 done with an artisan’s hand
 of short and swift, but heavy strokes.
 
 Drawn to this coast with no furthest shore,
 in frosty winds, in this perfect, frozen cold,
 we feel alive, and She is here.
 
 Out far, past the freezing shore,
 is a stone wall that breaks the pounding waves,
 and will do so forever more.
 
 Here too, a lighthouse lamp
 pans its light across the deep,
 warns ships off a rocky shoal,
 to keep the sailors safe and free.
 God is within its oscillating beam.
 
 A lone sailboat rocks to and fro.
 God is in between the wavering waves
 and makes them flow.
 
 Further North, we’re hovering
 on a suspended bridge,
 that unites countries, and divides them too.
 God is within this airy bowery of steel.
 
 As buds emerge from their slumber still, 
 the river runs a bit warmer,
 fog rises off the river’s ripples,
 off the reedy, rocky shore,
 misty souls emerge from the shallows,
 tumbling down the locks and falls,
 returning home to the constant sea and He.