Snow woke us from our slumber,
open windows to a clement January eve,
more arrived beyond the foretold flurry.

We cannot contain you in prediction
or in fact, no matter our persistence.

MotherFather, Elder Brother, Sister Bride,
you are Wild in our self,
much bigger than we plainly hold.

You do not reside in books or buildings,
altar tables, cups,
images hung encrusted in gold,
flowing robes of rules.

Those, our inventions, constructed to explain.
We compose to console
but only for the privileged who agree.

MotherFather, Elder Brother, Sister Bride
You are bigger than what we may design.

Within myself, cathedral, forest glen,
Infinitity, there you reside,
MotherFather, Elder Brother, Sister Bride.

.

.

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Author’s Note:

Welcoming Brigid into my home this feast day. Acknowledging the space she can hold as Wisdom and Spirit in theThree in One. Oh, this may ruffle some feathers. But as Sophia, Brigid, also speaks to inspire us to wisdom and enlighten us to the Eternal.

And, on a different note of silliness, today two friends of mine, Michael and Kynan, responded on Facebook to our unexpected storm and made me chuckle. Our weather people this year have not been lucky in predicting the weather. We were only suppose to have a very “light flurry.”

The inspiration for my poem is Brigid’s and my friends’ honest response to our snow:

• Kynan: One man’s flurry is another man’s winter blizzard Juno.
• Michael:  It flurried on my happy ass last night, I had fallen asleep reading and was awoken by the snow blasting in the window I left open….