Point of View

After a dark day low with clouds,
so cold the earth knocked underfoot
and struck me through my overshoes,
the mind’s eye closed by falling soot,

far to the west a rising hill
thorny with branches caught and tore
a fold of cloud and bled the sun,
the snow stained like a butcher’s floor.

Perhaps the accident of light
can only be redeemed by blood,
it came to claim the dark in me
the color found me where I stood.

I know the grace in what appears
depends upon your point of view.
I watched the sunset slowly clear
then did the chores I have to do.