Season of promise
Who doesn’t wait for spring,
for the first veil of green
across the trees? Its quiet
start – yet unassailed by
unwanted weeds – flings
wide open doors and windows
and hope. Forsythia splashes
yellow, redbud’s rosy pink
pops – everything so new, so
fresh, stunning against winter’s
on-its-way-out gray.
Spring’s telling, soft sketch
drawn on my heart stirs an
abiding season within – a
timeless, flourishing state of
thought, our pristine nature
divinely rendered of Spirit,
God – purely spiritual, unfading,
colored in resilient joy.
No invasive cold disdain,
oppressive heat of hatred, no
root of mortal designing can
cut off, cut short this eternal
season of Spirit – promised,
possible, fulfilled always in
thriving, unfolding good, for
all – blossoming out, now.
