Obscure Promises

I am thinking about promises.
about the hidden promises
right in front of us
that go unnoticed,
unrecognized...
like the salamanders' egg masses
that resemble fluffy cotton balls,
or the grey and fuzzy magnolia
buds, more reminiscent of
baby mice than the fragrant pink
blossoms they will become.

I am thinking about the tiny embryos within
the Jacob's Ladder's seeds
that will sprout
and carpet the garden 
this spring, and about
fallen leaves
that break down into fertility 
and about
last year's dry and standing
stems left by a lazy,
(or was it a caring) gardener,
hollow stalks to incubate
a new generation of mason bees.

And what of us? What of
those buried sprouts of our 
true selves, those
obscure promises
implanted in our making, 
patiently waiting to be born,
or reborn,
as we participate in 
our becoming?

Noticings of our outer and
our inner world.
Glimpses of God's glory.
Invitations all.

Resilience

I'm not sure I know what resilience is.
Not experientially, anyway.

I know of wood frogs who hibernate
in the leaf layer, whose
blood is like anti-freeze and 
whose bodies freeze and thaw
through the winter.
I know of woodland depressions,
bowls in the earth
who want to be ponds but 
must be patient
and wait
for winter's ice to melt 
into the water that fills them,
only to become dry land again 
when their work is done.

Contrary to what Jesus is said to have said,
seeds do not die when they fall to the ground.
Rather, embryos within fully alive,
they lie helpless and inert,
pummeled by rain and abrasion until
slowly they soften and sprout and
open to the world.
As do desert plants who live
so long dormant,
out of sight and forgotten,
until awakened by showers,
they burst into bloom,
set their seed,
and return to silent slumber
once again. 

I know of skunk cabbage,
warmed from within,
melting through the frozen muck
and emerging in late winter,
as though it cannot stand the
darkness a moment longer.
And snow geese and tundra swans,
and humans with hearts on fire,
who press on through the long unknown
to the land that calls
them home.

I don't know what resilience is.
Not experientially, anyway.
But, from those who have no choice,
I learn.