Sunday, May 19, 2013

Last week, after I drove my husband to the field
and helped him change the flat tire on the harrow,
as he returned to the work with tractor and machinery,
I walked the land.
Across the hay field still early spring brown,
small birds flying up from bunched tufts of dried grass,
the high above me calling screech of a soaring watching hawk,
I walked toward the bush.
(When we were children, "I'm going to the bush," we would say,
a few minutes walk from our farmyard.)
I stood for a minute, on the edge,
looking at field, looking at trees,
and took the step,
sinking into the woods with a sigh.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

If God had a mother, what would that be?
The Creator becomes a beloved child,
held in the arms of compassion and boundless human love.
Did it delight the heart of God, to feel the personal side
of a mother's sacrificial care,
when she rose up willingly, night or day,
to see to the needs of her precious child?
Was she on his mind when he prayed
to avoid the coming torture;
did he think of the pain his death would stab into her?
"Woman", he would call her, and honour the word.

Friday, May 10, 2013

The cool air will not save me
but it soothes my heated brow
The bird's song tells no answer
but it calms my doubts somehow
The sunshine brights the world
but not the dark inside my head
The trees stand by in loyalty
when there's nothing to be said

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Crust-encased, armour-braced,
so geometrical,
your contrast lines symmetrical.
Descendant of a dinosaur,
survivor of the fitness war.
Lizard-like you raise your head
and test the air for what you dread.
On land, slowed by your hard shell tent;
but water is your element
-you flash by in the cool pond, free,
unburdened now by gravity.