Saturday, January 26, 2013

My Tree

Inspired by the death of a friend, the birth of a granddaughter, an ache in my aged bones, and the prayers of my youth.

bbeingmee

Mixed emotions gather in mushroomed gray lined clouds, a fever pitch of worried concern and loss of beloved companions. Friends carried away like leaves in the gusts, piling against some unseen barrier far away from my tree. Familial doves alight from my branches in pursuit of a roost built by man. Could this tree ever hold them? Life is a tornado of ever changing events, blink and their gone, but I need to close my eyes, the dust of change causes pain. Age pursues me with a ravenous appetite, lying like a pride of lions before the pool of forever hope. Will I drink, or will I be consumed, to be a part of something else, my bones becoming their bones, my blood bringing health to their blood? Sweet Peace, where have you hidden yourself? Are you in the garden, hiding behind a tree? Come to me and share your priceless trinkets. Blinking back tears, pressing against the incoming tide, I swallow inevitable foamed certainties. I pulled an old jar from the ground beneath my tree. In it I hid inscribed hope with these words: God dances over me with joy and He will give me rest. I close my eyes in a sleep that only comes to those who labored hard in the fields, harvesting crops of contentment from the begrudging earth.

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