The last of the snow fallen,
the city buried, hushed.
Well after midnight
I was alone in the quiet
with my thoughts, dreams
having ventured out
on my trusty skis
into the old city streets
the romance too strong
for a wounded soul to resist.
Freshly waxed they slid, sang
like fingers across cordoroy
rhythmic crispness
sharp yet soothing
on that cold Saturday night.
Pale light from a waning moon
between streetlight pools.
Tree boughs shrouded
a tracery outlined above.
And the streets empty
untouched brushstrokes
through the brick and stone
buildings all dark now.
Wafts of tart wood smoke
like faint memories
appearing on occasion
In the magical quiet.
And as I neared home
streets oddly angled in the old town
I came to the stone church
small glimmers in the glass
stained windows high above.
And I heard the organ within
triumphant yet muted
Familiar notes
pushing against the darkness
The words stirred within
Abide with Me
a tear in my eye cold
as I stopped to listen.
And in that perfect moment
Two souls
One inside playing,
one outside listening
were joined in a mystery
Of communion, community
in the peaceful solitude
of an old hymn played
late on a snow filled night
In a quieted town
near a frozen lake.
A lonely soul spoken to
by a God of hope,
a memory that haunts
with comfort to this day.