Monday, January 02, 2006

Conversations with a Sycamore

28 December 2005, 6:31 PM

I remember saying a storm was coming
Quite suddenly I realize it's here
I'm caught off guard
Despite my fretting

With darkening clouds
Comes a sense of grief
And yet a sullen sort of relief
Perhaps I'll never have to be
Ordinary after all
There will always be butterflies in spring
Dark birds
Rising from the ashes of sultry summer
And on the horizon
Glimmering despite the overcast
Sky of autumn's seeming dead calm

Dappled and beautiful

So patiently for me to find
Courage to follow desire into her world
To see the colors adorning her branches
Especially when all else goes cold
And the chill wind bites
Renders wool and hot tea
Feeble comfort

Even then
She blazes like the summer sun
She is not one to balk at weather
whether or not it pleases her

So beautiful
I see her in my mind's eye
Now bare against a winter sky
Waiting patiently for me to see
For me to look up from my busy work
My very very busy work

Catch a glimpse of her

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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