Snow blankets the hills and contrasts with the pond.
Birds sing in ancient Avian and wave in flight.
The fish bump their heads against frozen waters, mouth-agape.
I hum hymns.
Snow crunches under hoof.
Trees stand tall, though ****.
I whistle.
But all of the melodies have been taken.
I try to offer up some original melody for my God-king.
All falls shorts.
Surely He smiles upon my efforts.
I press on.
I follow the river as it bends this way and that.
The deer sees me and pays no mind.
I am walking in the path of eternal light.
And darkness eeks out it's existence in the shadow of rocks.
I find comfort in the frozen sands of December.
A Wesleyan whisper from ages ago crosses my ear.
It speaks of Heaven.
Rushing waters pay no mind to change or tradition.