"I’d rather have the mystery and the madness and the rains
cause hell’s the only place you can be free of all love’s pain

I have no claim on the future
so here I lay me down
and God is a friend to lovers
he makes the bone, the flesh, the ground
and he walks with us, make no mistake
and holds us when our hearts, they break

And I can hear the band of angels singing now
like a story from the page is read aloud
but this is not make believe"

all the miles
sandra mccracken

"There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other's cooking & say it was good." storypeople

when in the early

when in the early morning hours
we wake up to unexpected spring,
i push the hair back from your forehead,
your even breathing the same
as in your just-before dream.

i, too, dreamed.
dreamed of waking up and seeing your face,
and then i did.
and the trees swayed outside the window,
and the warm wind creaked in the eaves.
and then i thought of a hundred other miracles
that i had never noticed before.

*****

photo by neil e. das

~Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love.~ psalm 107

Some days we can't seem to see far beyond the night. The darkness threatens to overcome us. I find myself always coming back to this, to whatever happens during the waiting of the long winter. To the quiet, sustaining, faithful love that keeps us all together. The glow of the houses, gold against the blue twilight. Branches creaking and bowing under the ice and snow, the howl of the wind. The promise of things at work, deep under the surface, the faith in things unseen.

This year the seasons are measured not by events, but in the counting of weeks. We are now to twenty-six. A few days ago I saw the wee baby spinning and spinning in the womb, held fast in a photograph the nurse took as he or she took a perfect pike position with feet over the head, sitting all to one side in my lop-sided belly. Hello, love.

We dream of spring, trying to be contented with the breathtaking blue sky and ice covered trees shining in the high, cold light. The sliver of winter moon and sharp stars. Even quieter than usual, quieter than ever before, we find poetry in the stillness of the long nights. In the hush of snow on the lawns and streets and roofs. We all hunker down, drink some tea, and wait. Trying to remember that eventually there will be the thaw of the brown earth, and first green buds that now hibernate safely under the surface. Through the weeks we are moving slowly along with the fears and joys and sorrows, remembering to give thanks and wait patiently for signs of spring, and to pray for who we will meet and and to surrender to the one who guides who we will become.