God Watches Over the North Country

Up in the north country, where I live,

God takes His job seriously, looking out

over His creation, keeping them safe

through cold winters’ snow-cover and summers’

humidity, hot and wet and bug-bitten,

the seasons’ changing sandwiched in-between,

autumns’ Indian Summers’ late playfulness taunting

and springtimes’ rain and drizzle, offering hope;

and all He asks in return is a steeple

pointing heavenward atop a clapboard church,

a modest structure, simply built,

the faithful, dwindling now, still faithful,

their voices raised, a hymn of praise to Him,

“The Old Rugged Cross,” perhaps, or

“Bless Be the Tie that Binds,”

and a silent prayer of thanks, remembering Him,

Him Who keeps us safe, Him Who gives us life,

life here in the north country, where I live.