The hills are still bare; the trees have only just begun to bud. I see delicate lacing of green, beginning fingers unfolding. There is redbud splashed about—the vibrant pinks like raspberries—those trees are sticking out their tongues at me. Nanna-nanna-boo-boo, I can move, why can’t you? The morning breeze waves the branches. Further into the forest I see forsythia. The bright yellow is waning, having done the job of pronouncing spring’s arrival.
I am lost in the way the sky kisses the earth——the pinks and blues of early morning horizon. In the midst of this traffic snarl–where metal meets flesh and the hillsides witness it all—in the midst of this traffic snarl, I begin to trust God with my day. And I feel joy settle inside the walls of me, feel my heart lift to meet this sudden surprise.
Joy finds me when I forget myself. And I let myself dream.
Soon—too soon, really—traffic begins to slowly move, until we are all once again snaking toward the beat of the everyday rhythm.
when the dreaming is done
I lift my head from these
that support me, these heights
that bouy me. I lift my head.
there are mouths to feed, work
to do. I step down and wildflowers
scatter in the waking. seeds
blow up into the air and I
descend through possibility…
if only…but I–I must watch
my step, lest I miss my footing,
stumble, and fall.
Blogging with Emily today:
And Bonnie too!