By Elaine Knudtson
Snowflakes float on the breath of winter like dandelion fluff in spring.
Puffs of white blossoms collect in the fingers of naked branches.
Mountains, obscured by the curtain of white, enclose my silent retreat.
The wooden crucifix, oblivious to the cold, hangs as a sentinel, suspended between heaven and earth.
Behind the framed window, protected and warm, the page elicits reflection like the snow entices footprints.
Why am I here?
To hear the breath and pulse of God in the silence.
Vulnerable,
Responsive,
Open to the Spirit,
Fear melts as willfulness dissolves into trust.
Contemplative Pilgrims 