"...the day itself cannot be construed as an enemy; it is what gives you the materials you have not only to contend with, but to work with, to build whatever you are capable of building. If you deny the day completely, you are lost." -- Stanley Kunitz (reflections from a poet and gardener)
The girl who yelped. The girl who helped. The girl who broke. The girl who glued.
The moon that howled. The sky that cowled. The earth that shook. The hand that took.
If you are crying, let it oil the rusted shut heart. If you are laughing, watch it shake the bitter fruit free. Sweet bell song. If you have sticks, pick them up and warm the home and light the fire that calls your children home to whatever 7 day porridge you've made from the gleanings from the edge of this field, this tiny, hoping life. And if the rains fall hard and the path washes away, don't tremble because the good earth below you waits and the new path breaks open if you'll be brave enough to take His light and put one foot in front of the bright song you've flung into the space before you. Called you home. Sank your tired eyes with lids that closed the curtain over bloodshot, life-damaged sight. You can be comfortable in the middle of not-knowing.
This is the day the Lord has made.
The barn swallows are fierce.
The root is fierce projecting shoot. The baby cries from the treetops and the wind lifts her down into her mother's swaying arms and she doesn't know if she should discipline the wind or the baby or the tree or her own hands shaking under their precious delivery.
The barn swallows. The barn swallows. The kittens she had are somewhere in the barn. Let me see them, mama.
Close the door and lean into the prayer. You are meek but never weak, brave woman. Lift the cargo. Make the house. Build the bed. Sweep the garden. Mend the branch. Rock the kitchen. Comfort the floor as you lay there with hands that sweep the passage free. Crawl through the light opening or a day you refused to deny.