Blustery grey day here. Yesterday it snowed and sleeted; today the rain was horizontal and plentiful. My mood rages like the weather. Rarely sunny and too often pouring. I’m worried about the lambs in the fields all over the country, and I’m worried about my kids. It’s my mother’s birthday.
For the next 11 days, we wait. I want time to speed up, to slow down. Oddly, it will do both of those things and neither.
Today I got two poems from friends to comfort me. They did.
What We Need Is Here
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
To Come Home to Yourself
May all that is unforgiven in you
May your fears yield
Their deepest tranquilities.
May all that is unlived in you
Blossom into a future
Graced with love.