Order unravels quicklyfrom sleepy first breath tooutbreak of chaos.I cannot controlthe unfolding of the day, but Godof the singularity andmultiplicity teachessingle-heartedness ifI take this momentto listen.
Against expectation, thisSpartan clipping makes spring flourish more,this cutting back to bones,to bare knobbly knuckles makesgrowth more abundant when it comes.And so we bearthe naked cruelty of these bare days,knowingagainst all experience,trusting againstbarren winter feeling,enduring againstthe buckling in our bones that wants to fall.
Early evening, cool of day, we walk in the garden to find evergreen branches to weave a wreath of hope. My son is distracted. Not tall enough to reach with me, he stands to watch but soon decides instead to help pile the compost heap with grass. Evergreen and humus: these symbols arrest as IContinue reading “Advent 1: Pine”
And Mary treasured in her heartthe mystery, the sheerbeyondness of what she held and did not hold.He already moved from her grasp,wiser than her and Joseph combined,outsmarting his teachers,taking himself off for theological talks,when she had hardly finished feeding him.Only time stood between her and total loss, onlyyears before a sword would pierceher own soulContinue reading “Christmas 6: How we grow”
I for one enjoy it: the slow, steady bursting from soil, those optimistic points of green poking sunward, the outward spread of tiny tufts, the promise of patience rewarded. And so daily I take my little son outside to see the garden, to “check on the grass”. All moments are wonders to him, yet IContinue reading “Watching Grass Grow”
Nothing purposed is instant. Fruit grows first by roots spreading deep, nutrients drawn, sunlight synthesised, chlorophyll taking glory from green. Look to the fig tree. If you see its buds, Summer’s promise dangles, yet is not realised. Tantalising, like a kitten’s ball of yarn, or a note waiting to resolve, a game of slow expectancy.Continue reading “Resolution 2: Slow Fruit”
No room, and yet there is room: in shoulders, between lanes, by roadsides, in industrial paddocks. No room, perhaps, for cars, yet feet have space to move, if you, traffic-sore, should rise and step into the space where lavender shifts in wind, gnarled tree trunks climb to upward possibility.Continue reading “Too Much Light 4: Prepare Your Feet”
To the odd square peg, the round hole said, “You really just don’t understand; The picture’s big, your needs are small. Shape up, or else ship out.” “The trouble is,” the round hole said, “That pegs like you just don’t fit in. Holes like this are not made of mes, Nor is there I inContinue reading “Change”