For My Husband on His Birthday (or, of winter and waiting)

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This winter lasts, but our time moves steadily from its first unfolding,
and we find ourselves in the already but not yet
of the journey.  Green plants push through dirt
beneath the frozen snow.  Sunlight shines through windows
covered with a long winter’s filmy grime.  We wait for warmth
and wait for wisdom.  We are in Easter’s Advent, praying, listening.
The cardinals have returned to the barren forsythia, looking, flitting
from branch to twig to ground, searching.

Perhaps we are a nesting pair, arriving, looking, searching,
putting all energy into choosing, collecting, building, and then,
hoping.  What will this next spring surprise us with?  A lush garden,
a field of wildflowers?  A new truth?

For now silence may fall with the snow
while we remain steadfast and full of hope.

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4 responses »

  1. This poem captures this in-between time at the end of the long winter season and the first signs of spring.. So beautiful the way it weaves the stillness and cold with the green shoots; the searching and the barrenness; the starker scene of the birds scrounging for food as the soul this time of year waiting, hoping. Lovely gift.

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