If you have seen the snow
 under the lamppost
 piled up like a white beaver hat on the picnic table
 or somewhere slowly falling
 into the brook
 to be swallowed by water,
 then you have seen beauty
 and know it for its transience.
 And if you have gone out in the snow
 for only the pleasure
 of walking barely protected
 from the galaxies,
 the flakes settling on your parka
 like the dust from just-born stars,
 the cold waking you
 as if from long sleeping,
 then you can understand
 how, more often than not,
 truth is found in silence,
 how the natural world comes to you
 if you go out to meet it,
 its icy ditches filled with dead weeds,
 its vacant birdhouses, and dens
 full of the sleeping.
 But this is the slowed-down season
 held fast by darkness
 and if no one comes to keep you company
 then keep watch over your own solitude.
 In that stillness, you will learn
 with your whole body
 the significance of cold
 and the night,
 which is otherwise always eluding you.
“Winter Grace’ by Patricia Fargnoli