March
still gray and raw
the path I take devoid
of foliage;
like a war zone;
trunks strewn in all directions;
trees uprooted and snapped off by recent nor’easters.
I strain to find a pretty moss or some isolated
patch of beauty.
The choas of the woods mirrors the restlessness
I feel inside.
I am tired of winter. I long for mornings filled with bird song,
and evenings with peepers.
Winter has whittled my world down into sameness.
My thoughts have gone gray.
And then on Saturday, at Evensong
The warmth of candlelight, the harmony of sound,
I sit immersed in a Magnificat
of song sweet
God moving then
and now.
I have been adopted
into a family
by a radical love;
love being such an over-used word
perhaps affection a more appropriate term;
Yes, with affection
which like a great nor’easter
has swept away the winter of my life
and given me permission to lift my hands in reply;
Abba, Father.
