Poetic, I Whispered

It is 3 a.m.
the night is young.

There is no moon to gaze at,
yet the soft white snow
carries its quiet light into the night,
settling the wonder of my Creator
deep into my heart.

“Poetic,” I whispered.

Reaching for a chapter of Empress Dowager Cixi,
a part of me longs to understand
David’s desire for God.

In a blink, the night wears on.
My eyes are getting heavy,
yet the quietness of the hour
and the luster of the snow remains.

“Poetic,” I whispered.

Gently, I walk toward the bedroom,
hoping my steps stay quiet.
It was too late.

The old walls creak
through the beautiful brown home.

I smiled and lay beside my children.

“May our dreams be as lustrous as this night,”
I whispered.