A Late Winter Poem For Baharak

I have been teasing a thought into being all morning, and since my morning began at 333 a.m. it's been a long haul to find the right words and the right order to address you. Oh, yes, you have been a partner in these thoughts since they first bounced around in my head, unruly and disordered, hardly the stuff of poetry. They were as skeletal as the trees, ghostly branches covered with snow, the whole scene reduced to two elemental colors, black and white. Is this sufficient material for a poem? I endured an hour of doubt, but in that time I was rescued as surely as someone lost in a storm. At first I imagined your face completely shrouded in darkness, then I gradually saw its outline appear, and finally your face was whole, in the pale light of a winter morning. It was not the sun that blessed us. It was moonlight and glistening snow that brought us out of darkness into the welcoming light of their special radiance. And I send my nighttime thought to you on streams of bright winter light: There will always be sufficient light for us to live and prosper in every season.