this I know

how is it possible that the world can be this beautiful

and this horrid both

each enough that words can't do justice--

only, only bearing witness can penetrate the truth of this unending mystery

walking out from hospital to a brisk morning

snowflakes striking at my skin

feels like my body is a benediction to many truths

opening up past fear, confusion and a desperate wanting

face lifted to the sky I watch while others bend, shielding themselves from its full force

this I know

I am alive and the world is too lovely and too awful to believe 

and yet believe I must for all else feels untrue

the wind and cold pierce me to the very moment

as nail and wing to all that chews my mind and spirit and tries to spit me out

and still I soar

I am not a human who can believe others easily

I must feel the wind scrape my own skin raw

and wait as snow melts on my lips, tasting, to know and proclaim the truth of my living

and yet this morning I was held in kindness

and I am grateful for

both quiet and storm which life brings in extremes

what else to do then

but acknowledge my sturm und drang is a collective

and so I walk and bow and walk and bow to snow laden

evergreens bowing in return along my path

thankful for

the silence of the woods in winter

my truth

In warmth,

Jill MacCormack

companion poem to the woods in winter