and pour it’s balm
I watch the season grow distant
in the rearview mirror,
this thing that genuinely frightened me,
and softly whisper grateful wonder
that we’ve come through.
….and that other caregivers
will tend the gardens I watch and water,
weed and whisper over
for one delicious week
of wallowing in saltwater sweetness
before heading back into the nextbig unknown.
(this intimidates me too.)
I could bury my face in the sand
(it’s easy here)
but instead I stand,
and call out
“hello, scary-looking iffy place in my life,
I’ll be there next week.
Just want you to know
I look forward to meeting you!”
And you know, I’m not bluffing.
Something brave is blooming inside me.
And I take another look,
refuse to live in dread,
remember the oceans of grace that surround me
and dig my heels into sand,
and certain hope.