Some winters feel more brutal than others. This one seems to be hitting many in my acquaintance quite hard. Between unusually long stretches of deep cold, wave after wave of substantial snow, and a bunch of really tough life circumstances, our hearts cry for a reprieve.

We are hoping for spring to arrive sooner than later. And we are looking for reminders that hoping for what we do not yet have is still a worthy pursuit.

In that light, I took time last night to finish painting this piece. And I wrote a poem to go with it.

This breaks up my series on “love” a bit, but I sensed there might be a few people who needed to see/read it now. (And, after all, isn’t it true that sometimes our ability to keep loving is fueled primarily by the hope that it’s simply our soul’s winter and things will eventually be resolved?)

Poem: Branch, Bud, Blossom

While I have sight,

let me appreciate

each fragile-vibrant blossom

reaching up

and out

in communion

with her neighbors

and the Giver of her

woven, cherished beauty.

And if these eyes

should ever dim,

let me recall solemnly

breathtaking snows,

so silent

and heavy,

to mute

Earth’s collective cry

of hope for a season…

only a season.