Some years ago, my mind in tumult,
I came to you,
and you bowed,
(or was it a curtsy?)
Dressed in green
(or was it gold?)
your nimble limbs swept toward me
when there was no breath of wind,
beckoning and offering blessing
in your wordless way.
The winter woods around you are seldom silent,
usually filled with chips and twitters,
unmelodious whistles, squeaks and squawks.
But today there is music -
the single, lilting phrase of a hermit thrush,
promise of hope for what lies beyond
this frozen moment,
promise for the future.
On this end-of-year solstice morning
I have come seeking you.
Clothed now in tans and silver,
limbs stiffened in the cold,
you move less easily now.
And yet, again I have come.
I have come for your benediction.
I have come to say goodbye.
Ten years of old pine floors and wavy windows
that let the outside in,
secrets held in unknown histories.
Walls that were, doorways gone.
Rooms and roof lines gained and lost,
mysteries beyond unraveling.
The marsh is clothed in browns and tans,
as when we first arrived,
a muted promise of discovery.
The years have changed it.
Populations of cattails, wild rice and jewelweed
jockey for position.
Like life itself,
never static.
Ten years taller are the trees.
Sycamores and yellow poplar scrape the sky,
finger-twigs stretching toward the clouds,
while beech and holly grow together in community,
thin places where the Divine stoops low,
meeting me unexpectedly.
And yet...some are gone,
remembered only by their fallen remains,
ghosts among the living,
reminders of an earlier time.
I miss them.
For ten years we have been gifted.
Gifted by an old house with old pine floors,
by trees and fields, woodlands and water;
Gifted by life itself,
and ten years of memories,
of blessings and of growth.
Ten years of gratitude.
Thank You.
