The Calm That Moment Made
I stood above the cloud-bound moor,
Where winter’s breath along the floor
Of earth and sky in silence wound
And wrapped the moor without a sound.
The cold was sharp, yet strangely kind;
It cleared the clutter from my mind.
Each frosted tuft, each muted hue
Felt etched in glass, serene and true.
Below, the fog began to lift —
A slow, reluctant, trembling shift —
And through that thinning silver screen
The smallest shapes grew faint, then clean.
Turn Village surfaced, soft and pale,
A fragile note inside the vale;
Its rooftops glimmered, touched by frost,
Like memories, I thought I’d lost.
The trees stood still as if they knew
The dawn had something pure to do —
A quiet blessing, hardly seen,
That brushed the branches white and lean.
I barely breathed, afraid the air,
Might break the spell that lingered there;
The world felt holy, paused in grace.
A moment held outside of place.
Nothing moved, and nothing stirred —
No drifting winds, not a waking bird —
Only the subtle rise of light
That made the ordinary beautifully bright.
And in that stillness, cold and clear,
I felt a truth draw gently near —
That all my restless heart had missed
Lay folded in that quiet mist.
For peace is not some distant height,
Nor triumph won through will or might —
It rises in a tender way
When frost and sky reshape the day.
I watched until the mist was gone.
Until the day was fully drawn;
Yet even now, when echoes fade,
I feel the calm that moment made.