light that gives a sense of stillness,

not of the grave, but of the kind that follows

some great strain of music that has died away,

and left a hush of awe… – George Inness Jr.

Credit: Greg Dunn

Near to sundown, hiking, we discovered

a diffusion of white mid-winter glow

gathered in the pillared grove: a warm

gilt growing on the frozen outer edges

of every bloomy hemlock branch and cone,

every sprig and red berry of running-fox.

The light hits with improved power now after

flannelled workers came here last autumn

to harvest timber and with the same swings

clear understory. Beauty, like glory, comes in

when given room enough, just as that golden

light shines dreamlike twixt tall pines

and unleaved laurels and strikes flashing

off the footpath’s icy rock and root.

Zachary Bos (on social @zakbos) is an alumnus of the graduate workshops at the Boston University Creative Writing Program.