poem

Winter Walk

The heat of hearth and friction of thwarted dreams
in the dim farmhouse
compel me out into brittle cold.
I forge through snow, toward frosted trees--
shelter and wonder of winter woods.

My boots are swallowed by footprints
left by some wanderer, heedless as I
to tramp these woods on the coldest day.

Restless flames in my soul leap forth
to blaze new paths through unbroken snow,
pushing aside branches,
straight into sunlight.

My driven steps merge with the trail of a deer.
A cry for hope
burns in my lungs and mingles with the frigid air.

I duck under one last branch,
still chasing the light,
and break out into a clearing
of brilliant snow surrounded by trees
crowned with the gift of the cold
and awake with sun.

Rebecca Weber

We’re a week into January, and the snow that fell on New Year’s Eve has actually stayed until now. There have only been a few snowfalls so far this winter, and none of them have lasted this long. I am delighted.

But more than being delighted at the snow, I am still amazed at my enjoyment of it. At the end of November, I wrote about my changing perspective on winter. It’s been a good winter so far, full of light.

In the middle of December, I had the opportunity of attending a program of excerpts from Handel’s Messiah, with a few friends. It was bursting with wonder and joy, the glory of Emmanuel, God come to dwell with us.

Practically ever since, I have had a CD of Handel’s music in my car and been playing it almost every time I drove somewhere. The other day as I was listening to La Réjouissance (my all-time favorite piece of classical music, from Handel’s Music for the Royal Fireworks,) I stopped to consider.

I never used to listen to that in the winter time. I always pulled it out in the spring, when the sound of running water was everywhere and buds were bursting were bursting on all the trees. And that was what I listened to as an accompaniment to my excitement on the way to Literature Camp in July. Not in late December.

But this winter is allowed to be full of joy.

I was also more ready for the new year than ever before. 2023 was old and full of days, rich and ripe. I had time to contemplate the work of God in my life and heart before the year came to a close.

I have often felt a sense of sadness at leaving behind an old year–needing to accept the stories that weren’t finished or hadn’t turned out the way I had hoped. But this time, it felt complete. I could see that God had been busy, and had accomplished what He needed to.

So it was beautifully symbolic when Ontario’s snowless December ended with dancing flakes on New Year’s Eve. For once, when I rose on New Year’s Day and looked out at a blanket of white, I actually felt ready for a new year, full of joyful anticipation.

Below, I’m sharing the poem that developed out of those thoughts. And since this seems to be the winter I am celebrating instead of enduring the season, I decided to turn this into a series, and plan to share a few more poems over the next month or two.

Welcome to the wonder of winter. May your 2024 be full of grace and growth in the Lord.

New Year’s Day

Year before last, the whiteout came

days before Christmas,

hiding the year’s unfinished harvest

under a thick mantle of frozen white—

my heart’s cry tucked away under snow

to wait for resolution in the spring.

I entered the new year numb.



The year just past,

December scarcely saw a day

of flurried skies.

Instead, the fields lay bare

exposed to sun, compelled to speak the truth.

I came to the end of the year

with all of my gleaning done.



In the year’s last hours,

we gathered to feast,

to sing, and to celebrate

while twilight fell on a dying year

along with flakes of a perfect snow. 



I wake to a young, young year,

unmarred as the blanket of snow.

Even the trees have embraced their rest

and I know

this is the year for winter peace

and a spring of planting a clean new seed

for something like hope to grow.

Rebecca Weber