gifted by a friend who had one
to spare
and knew
I'd be grateful.
Gratitude,
that generous spirit
that sometimes surprises,
spilling
out into a weary world,
welcome as sunrise,
sowing kindness,
germinating
and rising
like new shoots
springing
from the dark earth
ever towards
the light.
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.
