When my thoughts linger on the snow now, I will hold focus on
the contrasting image of fire on the ground instead. 
Out in the field where the deer sometimes wander and feed.
I will see you stoking the pile of coals— 
remnant pieces of a massive fire that was merely sedated by the gentle presence of falling
snowflakes. 
If you had whispered to me, I would have heard you. 
Your smoke-filled words blowing across the heated earth. 
After the silence, you did say that this fire is perfect for cooking or smoking fish. 
Something tender, pulled from the water, consumed slowly by the licking fire. 
So I imagined all the elements (fire air water and earth)—
harmonious, and present for an act of creation. 
Energy hissing and crackling from the wood you gathered yesterday with your hands. 
I know that this is the telling of sensuality within my spirituality.