Learning to love the lion of things…..

I will be grateful for the fires of winter
burning into the deep,  hard,  steely cold,
for the crackling sounds of earth giving up her strength
until ashes and coal
re-heated the heart and bones of me

and my soul sings thanks over old,  dirty snow,
over the slick of ice that skidded and slowed
what wanted to go faster,
wanted to outrun the gray skies closed in harsh
and find pretty things that pull my eyes
to softer places easier to see

blog crocus

  and I’ll call them good,  the little luminaries
in the bitter slow-going,
the bright little beings flocked close around the birdfeeder
and life calling me sometimes out
onto streets I didn’t want to travel,
for the ways it made me braver
and tugged me farther into the wilds of my soul
where seeds waited long for me to sing warm breath
over their hard little shells
until they,  too,  went green and glowing

and how odd that maybe it’s a rich thing ,
how slowly winterness melts and thins,
and draws it out long,   this waiting
for the stuff of fruit and herb and light and loam and bloom
and I’m grateful more than weary
for the lion of even tiresome things

blog daffys

I’m learning to love both the lamb and the lion of this thing called living:)

“….gone are the dark clouds that had me down,
it’s gonna be a bright,  bright
sunshiny day.”
-Jimmy Cliff

I’m gonna give away a copy of the March issue of my bright little zine,  Ripplesongs,
to the name I draw from the comments left on this post
……..jump on in,  if you like!
I’ll post the winner next Sunday:)

Angels being busy….

Sleep went sliding through the cracks in my peace
where it split like a ripe tomato roasting on the vine,
so tired it hurts,
the swelter in my heart
hotter than the wilting summer heat
as I reached an arm out floppy
to tag heaven in

for some new ways of seeing
with cooler eyes,
and to maybe find some fresher ways,
like a handful of new paints
in colors I haven’t met before

and I start laughing at the words
that tumble naked from my mouth,
“angels,  be busy”
kind of giggled wholehearted
because the knot at the end of myself is feeling rubbed in butter
and I dangle,  swinging low.


And,  wouldn’t you know,  they swung lower still,
to carry me home to that roomy space inside
where the river’s running sweet and healing water
and how it calms my wiggly spirit,
when I slide into the flow

and,  yeah,  I’d rather do life with more polish,
like a band that’s tight
instead of what I am
but I believe that it’s enough,  this holy generosity
that covers and keeps and restores tattered wings
while angels being busy
wrap my bits of earth in freedom,
infusing now with forever
like they do.

My blog  was broken down for awhile and I’ve been patient waiting
while Michele of Be Inspired Designs
helped fix the flat and get me up and running again.
She is pretty wonderful like that.

So much thanks for coming around to visit again!
You.  You just make me sooooo glad:)