“The Light Comes Brighter” The light comes brighter from the east; the caw Of restive crows is sharper on the ear. A walker at the river’s edge may hear A cannon crack announce an early thaw. The sun cuts deep into the heavy drift, Though still the guarded snow is winter sealed, At bridgeheads buckled ice begins to shift, The river overflows the level field. Once more the trees assume familiar shapes, As branches loose last vestiges of snow. The water stored in narrow pools escapes In rivulets; the cold roots stir below. Soon field and wood will wear an

Hope Hope is with you when you believe The earth is not a dream but living flesh, That sight, touch, and hearing do not lie, That all things you have ever seen here Are like a garden looked at from a gate. You cannot enter. But you’re sure it’s there. Could we but look more clearly and wisely We might discover somewhere in the garden A strange new flower and an unnamed star. Some people say we should not trust our eyes, That there is nothing, just a seeming, These are the ones who have no hope. They think that

(photos of doors on St. Charles Ave and the Loyola Campus in New Orleans) -Christine Valters Paintner @ Abbey of the Arts

When we were in Whistler over Christmas we had the delight of seeing two different rainbows, which I realized were actually “snowbows.”  One of them looked like a traditional arc (top and bottom image), the other hung suspended in the air upside-down (middle image). -Christine Valters Paintner @ Abbey of the Arts