about winter

I’m living winter barefooted

I step on it.

I step on the ice.

And I feel it burn

I can see the little splits and cracks on the sole of my feet.

And I can feel my skin turning blue.

The news a r  r   i    v     e      s

I sit, I take my feet off the ground.

For just one second,

I see the damage.

And then I stand again.

There’s no holy ground for the anxious mind.

There’s no holy soil for feet that are afraid.

Just the imperfectly protection

Of our prayers.