🌿 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.

🌿 Keep Pedalling

A little girl and her daddy,

a green and purple bike,

handlebar tassels twirling.

He grips the seat, steadies.

Leans in close, encourages.

They are off—

“Down up down up”

he reminds.

Keep pedalling.

Keep pedalling and somehow

you and your bike

will balance,

travel forward.

I wanted to follow, cheering.

To tell her how biking can be

giddy yell-out-loud fun,

and oh, the things you can see,

and the places you can go,

and yes, there are hills,

and yes, there is wind,

and yes, the weather is not always

sunny blue warm.

But a girl who can pedal

down up down up

can travel through adolescence

right into adulthood,

even with hills and mountains,

wind and rain.

Keep pedalling little one.

Keep pedalling.

🌿 Distance vs Depth

Two metres — six feet

We maintain distance but

long for community.

Two metres — six feet

We use parking lots for conversations

that belong in coffee shops.

Two metres — six feet

We become hyper-sensitive to

P h y s i c a l___S p a c e

Two metres — six feet

We manoeuvre or detour to avoid

fatally crashing a personal bubble.

Two metres — six feet

We bury too many loved ones

we could not keep safe.

🌿Puddles ‘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.

We’ve been gingerly skirting it,

but today I encountered

a mom and son

wading, wandering right through it,

holding hands. Smiling.

“We just wanted to try our

rubber boots.”

Her explanation, sheepish.

As if being caught enjoying

spring is a thing

of shame.

🌿I 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.