๐ŸŒฟ Pockets

Carry many things.

Some useful โ€”

wallet, phone,

grocery cart loonie,

a comb.

Some special โ€”

copper penny,

feather, pebble,

a memory

so tender โ€” but tangled

with a grief too heavy

for a pocket to hold

without a

bulging, tearing

falling out or apart

so the

pocket is stitched,

patched, reinforced.

A memory pocket full

(with grief)

is still better than

one that is

empty.

๐ŸŒฟ Wind

I worked to the rush of wind today;

it was steady and unrelenting in ways

I was not.

Does the wind ever wish it could just

pause,

know the singularity of a particular

place?

Or must it always be a wanderer on its

way somewhere

reminding us that change

is both unrelenting and inevitable,

never impossible.

That there is a way from west to east

from here to there,

from this to that,

from now to then.

๐ŸŒฟ I Saw A Farmer Today

He wore Wranglers tucked into black rubber boots,

a ball cap, although he probably never played ball.

He and his shovel worked the edge of thawing field,

carving exit routes for water needing to be evacuated.

My Grandpa wore rubber boots and a straw hat

when he shouldered his shovel as if it belonged there,

sauntered to his orchards or Granny’s big garden

early each morning and later each evening.

There, he systematically built dams, cleared trenches,

blocked ditches, directed water, controlled its journey

so fruit trees and vegetables could flourish

and never thirst in the heat of a Colorado summer.

I used to wonder if Grandpa ever grew weary of

his irrigation routine, found ditches a drudgery.

Because I thought that I would love this earth-bound work

so methodical, so peaceful, so life-giving.

๐ŸŒฟPuddles โ€˜n Boots

A sure sign that spring is a thing

is the proliferation

of puddles.

One such puddle on our street

has visions of being a pond

or even a lake. With a name.

Weโ€™ve been gingerly skirting it,

but today I encountered

a mom and son

wading, wandering right through it,

holding hands. Smiling.

โ€œWe just wanted to try our

rubber boots.โ€

Her explanation, sheepish.

As if being caught enjoying

spring is a thing

of shame.

๐ŸŒฟI Wonder

I wonder if the disciples woke up that morning

exhausted from anxious days

heavy with grief

burdened with shame

numb with despair.

I wonder it they had talked and talked and talked

trying to make sense

trying to recall kingdom words they had barely understood

now beginning to settle into something like hope

but if true

suggesting a future far greater than their yearnings

for a return to what was.

I wonder if the only thing they knew with certainty

was that the sun had risen

on another day.

Life continued.

I wonder what they felt the moment they grasped

this truth

in its greatest and most profound sense.

๐ŸŒฟ Birthday Card

If I could send you a card today,

what would it say?

๐ŸŽ‰ Happy Birthday to one of my favourite people

๐ŸŽ‰ Warmest wishes and love on your birthday and always

๐ŸŽ‰ So grateful that God put you on this earth and in our lives.

You are one of my favourite people

I will love you always

I am grateful that God gave you to us for a time

But if I could send you a card

it would be a postcard.

On the front: a picture of our house

or of the view from the upstairs window (you know the one).

On the back: Wish you were here.

I miss you.