I wrote this poem during a time of questioning and discernment when I was in seminary. During a winter trip, some of my questions were answered in this mystical moment. By the way, a "theophany" is an appearance of God on earth.
Theophany
by Tess Baumberger
I am in Sequoia National Park.
It is January,
the first sunny day
after the first snowfall of the year.
The only sounds are
unfamiliar clacking of my
rented snowshoes
and the muffled thuds
of snow dropping from trees,
far-away-firework sounds.
I stop at a cool collection
of sequoia sisters
circled,
cinnamon-stick
brown, and red.
Blue sky and bright sun
interspersed among their
frowsy hairdos.
And a cloud of snow
meanders down,
forgetful of gravity,
lazily, a boy kicking his heels,
not ready to come in to dinner.
The sun lights it into
a cascade of crystals,
a curtain composed of
diminutive diamonds,
gently wavered by the wind.
The snow continues
to thud softly
behind me.
by Tess Baumberger
I am in Sequoia National Park.
It is January,
the first sunny day
after the first snowfall of the year.
The only sounds are
unfamiliar clacking of my
rented snowshoes
and the muffled thuds
of snow dropping from trees,
far-away-firework sounds.
I stop at a cool collection
of sequoia sisters
circled,
cinnamon-stick
brown, and red.
Blue sky and bright sun
interspersed among their
frowsy hairdos.
And a cloud of snow
meanders down,
forgetful of gravity,
lazily, a boy kicking his heels,
not ready to come in to dinner.
The sun lights it into
a cascade of crystals,
a curtain composed of
diminutive diamonds,
gently wavered by the wind.
The snow continues
to thud softly
behind me.
And God is here.
And it’s been a long time
since I’ve seen her,
this clearly.
And joy overflows
my eyes, and takes
hold of my body
and shakes it,
convulses me.
How can the world
hold
so much beauty?
How can my
small
heart contain it?
Why have I been
called
to witness it?
What can I
do,
but proclaim it?
The sisters
smile,
knowing smiles,
long,
crooked,
sideways
smiles.
The snow curtain
listens,
glistening.
And God
holds
my hand.
And it’s been a long time
since I’ve seen her,
this clearly.
And joy overflows
my eyes, and takes
hold of my body
and shakes it,
convulses me.
How can the world
hold
so much beauty?
How can my
small
heart contain it?
Why have I been
called
to witness it?
What can I
do,
but proclaim it?
The sisters
smile,
knowing smiles,
long,
crooked,
sideways
smiles.
The snow curtain
listens,
glistening.
And God
holds
my hand.