Another Advent

Ghosts in the fields,

invisible stalks of

what could have been,

what was almost there,

glimpsed in patterns

and shadows of brown,

winter light.

But there’s a frequency

transmitting life beneath

frozen earth, below

sidetracked dreams

and appearances 

that nothing else

is happening here.

All I can tell you is 

that hope is a being

that visits quietly, 

coming and going,

stubbornly announcing

what nothing else will.

When it reveals itself,

move toward its warmth.

Sometimes a slight turning

of the heart at hidden depths

is the beginning of a whole 

new season.