Clearing Paths
I trudged through darkness
with my shovel on my shoulders,
eleven or so inches
of fresh dry snow.
All was inaccessible.
I worked and watched:
The moon was luminous,
the deep dark blue sky
turns into dawn,
starts with a sliver of ice
that melts with soft roses
and touches of smooth pearl gray
spreading and the sky
becomes light blue.
With buoyant spirit
I shovel substance,
pure glistening stuff from the sky-
light little wisps
fall to the earth, settle and cling.
I welcome the weight
as I work
clearing paths.
1998 The Candlelight Poetry Journal
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