Low in the west, crescent descends,
Red-tinged, yet ghostly pale.
On frigid air my breath depends,
Crystalline sharpness I inhale.
Gratitude fills my open heart,
God-flux saturates sight,
Distant canine does its part,
Punctuating chill air of night.
Evening “star” tracks along,
Myriad cousins glitter bright.
Crunch of frost an eerie song,
Retreating back inside.
For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse:Romans 1:20