Transfiguration Sunday

and Pastor Arnold’s sermon reminded me of this poem I wrote in 1980, almost 40 years ago.


fog on the freeway


The fog on the freeway:

“ Ice”

“Chains required 5 miles

beyond this point”

and I’m sure

I’ll miss my exit.

This wall weaves,

coils around my car,

poised to strike.

The heater hisses,

as the Datsun wheezes up the hill.

I wonder,

“Am I as ghostly

as the signs

appear and disappear?”

“Ashland/Klamath Falls

Exit 1 mile”

God, you set,

timed this run.

I didn’t know

this ascension in elevation

would make living so difficult.

I look to the Hills

for my Strength.

I can’t see them,

but I know

they are there.



Published by: Basicallybarb

Barbara A Meier is a poet, teacher, and mother, trying to write her way out of Kansas, anxiety and depression. Instead of indulging in feeling like garbage, trash, or rubbish, she chooses to examine the debris of her life by writing poems about it. After all as a forgiven, child of God, simultaneously saint and sinner, she is loved and cherished by her God.

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