My lap is full of January,
these simple bells, one for each day,
my heart poured out in bits of art
that keep the stories stirred
and speaking.
I don’t want to forget these riffs,
the horse and rider and rushing water,
blackbirds and hawk and torn feathers beside her,
another year marked with a yes and a go,
crossing the bridge and whistling loudly hope,
of freebird and primroses and stepping into the flow
and open wide and yield inside
down where the soaring grows.
And I’m feeling new spaces
in even old places,
done with grieving things done and gone,
and I’m letting new eyes
open me wide,
fresh born hope lighting me up inside,
forgiveness lifting off the weight of hard time
till even my air is going softer,
amazed at the grace,
grinning and breathing
and whispering thanks.
January has been intense,
a whole lot of living for just one month
and I’m feeling the wild hope
I dreamed of as a child;
when the words find me
I’ll wrap them up and share
because you’re on my mind always
with an always kind of love.
“When hope is not pinned wriggling onto a shiny image
or expectation,
it sometimes floats forth
and opens.”
-Anne Lamott
(and, hey, I disappeared from google reader for several weeks.
I believe I’m back, restored,
but I think maybe you’ll have to sign up again.
oh bother, I know.
If you see me there, will you let me know?)
