10 Ways to Embrace the Ring Road

Embrace it.
No other time of day can you sit still,
without compunction.
Here schedules mean nothing.
You may be late; that cannot be stopped.
Yet you can stop. You can look
at clumps of grass and broccoli gums
in wetlands and wonder how they looked
before this road was even thought.
You can watch
the faces as the windows pass
(no other time of day will you
see so many lives entwine).
Invent their stories.
Stop and know your own.
Hold last night’s mess in your hands
as you steer today’s wheel.
Consider the day.
Pluck your nose hair.
Watch birds fly back and forth in sequence
and fancy them a wind-blown sheet.
Name the clouds with metaphors
(a waterfall, a needle,
a walrus’s moustache).
Scan the forgotten gorges of your city and learn
how distances must be covered to move
to where you want to be.
Trace the sun as it chases the trees.
Learn all the textures of its light.
Watch the evening drape the sky.
Prise open this day’s grace.

Too Much Light 6: Prepare Your Crowns

Come,

let us

walk

in the light

of the

 

 

                        Lord:

the light is blinding   and

the days are long; the sun

confuses us, the bustle deafens.

 

Lord:

let us walk.

 

Let’s leave our cars, our homes, our days

and walk.

The Son has stories brighter than noon,

pavilions for the rising of the brightest morning,

and ways that feet must slow to learn.

 

But come.

Prepare your crowns, prepare

your heads to bow before

His crown.

 

Prepare the day, to slow, to greet

this child,

bright as Day.

Second Candle: Advent is Slowing

One candle grows short, a second descends,
And three others wait for the rising of light.
Wicks burn down and dwindle, yet hope still appends
The longing of prayers in the slow Advent night.
In the day, though the shouting of sun may shut out
The lamenting of captives, yet watch in the night,
For Advent is slowing: our rushing, our doubt,
Our “everything-must-be-done-by-this-time”.
Yes, Advent is dwindling – right down to the quick –
And Advent is hoping, and looking, though sight
Is obscured, and deferred hope makes the heart sick.
Advent is finding new candles to light:
When the length of the waiting diminishes cheer,
The light still will flicker, to shut out all fear.

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Too Much Light 3: Prepare your ears

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Slow down.
Road, rain, traffic slow you down
but you are fast.
Your heart pounds to silence the road, and buds
turned inward block out growth.
What speaks is asphalt
and the music in your ears, the hum
of engines idling, the unexpected pause.
Yet sky
is telling another story: look, the clouds
gather round the sun to make it plain.
And other hearts pound beside you,
some with windows wound down, and some
wound up
with the delayed expectation of day…
Change lanes;
there is movement in another place, and blinking
lights declare the way is near.
Listen: truth today sings in silent stasis
and beckons you to hear.

Too Much Light 2: Prepare Your Eyes

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Highways have no beauty in heat of summer:
the road flattens and grass lies thirsty by the way.
Nothing to see (the asphalt carpet rolls through nowhere fast),
we dream of nothing but our pedestrian destinations.

Should someone tell the day that new light might dawn
across a languid, surprised hill, it would chuckle.
And so the road stays nonchalant, all drivers casting off the glare 
of sun that blinds from sun, and day
which blinds from truest Day.