Generous Wisdom | Spacious Heart
Wise Heart Practices of Movement, Metaphor, Meditation & Meaning
Autumn creeps toward us this year. The white birch
turns from green to yellow and goldens into November.
I watch the bright leaves shout to me through the front window,
and everyday for two weeks I think how I will write about it.
Now the wind comes, and well over half of the leaves
cover the ground in a splendid circular swath of color.
The wind has taken the rest: oak, maple, buckeye, plum.
I see straight through all the branches into the sky.
Autumn comes cleanly into my day.
It has us wearing jackets
and opening windows, stacking books
and rearranging toys; it has us moving furniture
and wiping baseboards, walking to school
and praying in church.
The three little ones and I stop in at the sanctuary.
We are there with two women, mopping and dusting,
and we have our first practice sitting with God.
Jesus in the tabernacle; Jesus in our heart.
It lasts twenty seconds.
(Success!).
After nap we pop outside for swinging and soccer,
but the two youngest stoop beside our out-of-service flower-pot,
spying rain around the bottom, and dip their hands
in the dirt-flecked water. Over and again: “Amen. A-men!” he says,
fingers touching forehead. “Amen,” she smiles, crossing herself.
Christ comes cleanly into my day.
These miracles, so bright I cover my eyes;
they bound, glide, skip before me and beside.
She rides his old training bike with eyes halfway closed;
he jukes and zags in front as she laughs from her toes,
and the little girl plays “touch each stone” along the way;
then it’s “touch the shoulder” when she finds me out of place.
Baby boy plays at cars, trucks, and tractors,
making their noise, making laughter.
The air moves and settles differently tonight;
it is the autumn coming, the new slant of light.
Ah, this wind, sweet-covered in leaf and seed-pod;
these miracles, rain-bursts of exhausting love.
They are four together and apart
sparkling each with their own purpose, their hearts
beating sorrowful now and again, though joy comes down with storms,
growing hurts, but this light hurts more.
Generous Wisdom | Spacious Heart 