Hope

Once more the ever-threatening darkness
comes as with a will,
bringing before it a desolate and
unrelenting landscape.

The gray, roiling skies,
the wind like a knife,
and the cold unforgiving ground give evidence
that life has disappointed
and deceived.

Before me lies a wasteland upon
which no living thing moves.
The way before me is littered
with the stench and decay
that once was life. I wander
this path of torment and loss,
no longer search for the home
where my journey began. I seek only
shelter from the killing environment.

Soon my weary spirit
weakens and my step falters.
As I surrender to despair,
as much in supplication
as defeat,
the thorns and sharp stones
of the frozen earth impale my hands.
It is there, on my knees,
that I discover the small nub,
a kernel of eternity and renewal.

No gardener am I but
I know this seed
for what it is: the rough husk
concealing long forgotten
visions of a life filled with promise and
expectation.

My broken and bleeding
fingers beseech the barren soil
for purchase and lay the seed
amongst the stone and nettle.
And then its cover falls
away revealing the miracle of
a small green bud already
unfolding.

The dead season
dissolves as if by magic,
washed from me by a warm
spring shower, and in the pool
that forms, the reflection overhead
is of azure and gold.

And as I lift my face
to the rising light,
God comes laughing and dancing
across a liquid green meadow.