I see the golden leaves
fluttering in frozen wind,
I feel an empty sky,
the circumference of joy is hard to find.
I catch the cardinal’s red flash
under scattered bits of sun,
I know the cracking cold,
come cold winter, come.
The air is filled
with flashes of sun,
like it broke into bits
and the wind now blows it apart,
all these separate pieces, everywhere.
Countless more flecks of sun spin
through everything, too small to see,
hidden in the depths of us,
of creation, the depths of everywhere,
everything water in every form.
We bounce around the side roads to home
over ridges of frozen slushed snow,
see our frontyard snowmen smiling:
welcome sun, above, below, within, without;
temperatures change, miracles abound.
“God is always beyond God, the iconoclast par excellence,
who over and over breaks out of the forms and symbols of our making.”
~ Bernard J. Lee, SM
I stand at the sink
scrubbing the shiny steel pan
when my littlest one asks me to read.
I ask for his patience,
one, two, three times, and
so he reads to me,
“Mom is beautiful, her hair,
her face, she is beautiful.
Her heart is love.”
And then I know
the vast and mighty love
that pours itself from the smallest vessels.