Winter is shrugging its cold shoulders
Each day a trial in change
The flowery weeds are creeping up
Announcing spring
And you marvel yet again
How a weed can have such beauty
You have thought yourself much like one too
Persistent, resilient, and wildly growing
Where fertile grasses can not
Go
The wildflowers are soon to come
The ones you pass by on interstate highways
Coloring your route with blues and reds
And people pulling over with cameras in hand
Because of course
Who can resist vibrant displays making
Brief appearances
And for a moment your faith is a
Wildflower
Naked trees begin dressing
With pods tightly clamped shut
Ready to release, the same as before
You stop on the country road
The one you drive when you need to think
Taking you down the blacktop
Of your dormant faith
One that’s felt cold but not
Dead
And there, you see a tree
Each branch adorned in buds
Peppering its skinny limbs like freckles
Or small fists
Just when your faith felt bare and stripped
Change is suckled between the hardwoods
Of your heart, soul, & spirit
‘Til you sway in the Wind, alive
New life opening on a mighty, freckled
Fist.
///
There is a collective of people who are bringing their gifts and talents via a newsletter called the Sunday Circle Group, specifically for the weekends, to us. I have been blessed to be included in this glorious collection. I wrote this poem especially for the group, in the hidden back alleys of email. But I’m pulling it out, to see the light of day, if you will, both here on the blog and on Facebook because I strongly believe faith opens us up from even the smallest of fists.
Poetry seems to be a by-gone thing in many circles, but it’s where I first fell in love with writing. So it is, I return to my first love from time to time, tenderly retracing and re-loving words. Much like poetic justice, is poetic courage.
If you’d like to connect with the Sunday Circle Group, sign up below. Or click on this –>>Sunday Circle Group<<– to get more information.
