Rev. Diane Rollert
February 1, 2021
A cloudless sky
for the first time in weeks,
a three-quarter moon shines
brightly over the snow,
refusing to accept that the sun is rising.
Two great forces in competition,
the cold of night,
the warmth of day.
Across the valley
the village lights still call out—
we are slow to change,
reluctant to let go of sleep
or incomprehension
that a new day dawns.
Shards of glass
mirror our faces;
the shock of time
belonging to us,
our fear that goodness
is no longer a guarantee
against angry forces
worshiping angry gods.
The waning moon laughs,
promising as it disappears
that the sun will get stronger.
Only fools fail to thank the cycle.
Our work awaits:
the painstaking process
of fitting the broken pieces
back together
into an imperfect whole.