Wednesday, March 22, 2006

A Walk at the Reservoir II

11 March 2006, 4 PM

A harsh wind day
cold and uninviting
yet beautiful nonetheless
for one with eyes to see
the multi-faceted slate gray
splintered by the wind into ripples
endlessly shattering across the reservoir
toward Sycamore

lovely as she ever was
so bare and bright
so faithful throughout my plight
day and night she stands
keeps vigil at the reservoir

She aches and yearns
she longs for what she does not have
but she stands and never ceases
to reach heavenward
even when she cannot see
the azure firmament
beyond a stubborn slate gray sky

She knows who he is
the wide blue sky
She knows he houses the sun
the stars
the guardian of night
She also knows he is not all in all

She knows his beauty
and loves him rightly
reaching through and beyond his splendor
toward the Deep
as he would have intended
if ever there had been any doubt

I catch a glimpse of Milward
in the shallows
He cannot possibly be sunning himself
there is so little of the sun today
though spring fast approaches
On winter she encroaches
draws sap from roots
tempts buds from limbs
begins the season once again
leaves me breathless in the biting wind

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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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