THIS LONE SPIRE, A SIGN

HIGH CAMP PRAYER TIME

On one page God makes all things right

and on the next one, sin like tempered steel

remains after earthquakes, unbreakable.

On the eleventh day in January, 1611,

Brother Lawrence is born in France.

He gazes at a barren tree in winter.

Shakespeare presents The Tempest to King James.

At High Camp, I stand my skis away from wind.

Brother Lawrence sees grace and providence

in the tree's desolation. In the Carmelite

kitchen he scrubs plates practicing before God.

After noon prayer I will seek trees

like the scarred ones Brother Lawrence sought.

Trails, traces, tracks be my way. Snow path

extending forward, trails returning to home.

Follow and make. A form of wisdom

between living things. Most trails form

on their own with no help from man.

Bands of sunlight form on lower SE slopes

of Mt. Rainier. Back on skis, through spires

of grey-barked trunks dead longer

than history's time in my country.

Mushroom and rice soup warms my stomach

during my search for trees in small groves.

Movements in mountains, deserts and slums,

places most difficult to follow Jesus,

take place on winter snow. January

is Jubilee. Rebirth and re-distribution

cross mountain terrain in silence's swoosh.

The dead trees wait for signs of new life.

Give your other coat to the homeless,

the angel tells me. Get down

on your snow knees and ask forgiveness

for the coat you have stolen from the man

who has been left with none. Extreme

weather has prepared you for this.

You have found the deposited signals

in this wilderness. Pheromones

in the body are chemical triggers firing.

Jim Bodeen

11-14 January 2019