I am reminded of you when I see the snow come down.

I notice that you teach me through your silence and wind,

The cold wind blows through my street as the snow falls lightly.

 

Lightly you cover the sidewalks, the trash that lays along the street.

You paint over the streets with the whitest snow

 And sprinkle the flakes in between the branches of the trees.

 

All I see is white, forgetting about the trash that lay underneath,

The dead leaves that create slopes in the snow.

 

You call me inward,

Into those places that I cover up, into those things I use to disguise my own trash,

Into my words that I use to stomp on my dead leaves.

 

I am reminded of you when I see the sun peek through the clouds.

I notice that you teach me through your light and warmth.

The brightness beats down on the cold of the winter snow.

 

Slowly you melt away the snow and the outlines of what is underneath starts to emerge.

You bring awareness of what no longer needs to be and what can stay.

 

You call me inward,

Back to those places you want to bring your light,

Back to teaching me I am alright.

 

You call me outward,

To pick up the wet cold trash off of the ground,

To push aside the dead leaves and make room for what is to be.

 

I am reminded of you when I see the green stem push through the ground.

I notice you teach me through your gentleness and rhythm.

 

Quietly you bring forth life into those places I so quickly cover up,

Peeling away the layers of trash so your light may shine through,

Removing those dead leaves so there is more of you.

 

You call me inward.

You call me outward.

BY JULIA PELSINSKI

Julia is learning how to intentionally love her neighbors in Lancaster City, Pennsylvania. She enjoys yoga, reading, and taking cute pictures of her cats - Mona and Coconut.