Wednesday, March 14, 2007


14 MARCH 2007, 12:48 PM

There's a tree outside
my window- it's beginning to bud,
and I know that Spring has come,
or will before the bitter cold kills
everything that's left of me
this side of Wintertime.

This side of Wintertime,
dead branches evince
hard-lost battles, but warmth renews
even the oldest, most scarred sentinel
in the gravel parking lot; redeems
what most would call an eye-sore,
where I see myself, and you, and all
these things for which I've sought
a home. There's life in those branches
still, even the ones bereft of sap,
for they tell the story of how and where
and when and why you turned my head;
caught my eye in such a way
that I could want you to come into my life
in such a way that we could find the path
to wholeness once again,
or for the first time
this side of Wintertime.

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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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