cloaked spire, gray in the swirling snow
no dome, the conical roof appears
illuminated from above
the snow clouds offer January light
perfect mix of contrast, the world loses color
but not sentiment
like a faded, old photo
my eye focuses on the black against white
the image of that church top I see from hills far away
but the memory of it already singed in my mind
when I would squint upwards and see that same roof
in shades of gray, covered by snow
from down below, the flurries battering my face
my mind turns to leave, to be there again
and return to my room, out of the cold
the sagacious bee 