We are all stewards of the Earth just as the Earth is steward of our spirit.
As I stand washing yesterday's dishes
I look out the window
Upon another gray, winter's day.
The fence row behind my house
Camouflages itself
In shades of gray:
Gray-green, gray-brown,
And a bit of dirty white
Left over from the last snow.
Although I know
The Earth is only sleeping
I surmise it must be a deep sleep,
For it closely mimics
The eternal sleep
Of death.
I am thinking
It must have been weeks
Since I last saw color
Was it Christmas?
I can't remember,
And the depression nibbling
At the edges of my spirit
Threatens to overcome me.
But look!
Juxtaposed against and within the gray
Flit jewels of richest crimson.
There must be dozens of red birds
All dancing as they move
From one branch to another.
And suddenly
My heart is lifted
And I begin to hum contentedly
As I wash another dish.
And the depression nibbling
At the edges of my spirit
Threatens to overcome me.
Many can/will relate to this, Rebecca. But your poem ends on a delightfully hopeful note brought on by the lovely symbolism of the red bird (cardinal). Thank you for sharing, Rebecca. Love and best wishes to you,
Depression nibbling at the edges of your spirit — using the word ‘edges’ gives an excellent kind of ‘frayed’ concept that is commensurate with ‘depression’ and is very effective. This was a glimpse into a moment where human spirit can be lifted by just one glorious vision, your red birds. I got a rise from “Flit jewels of richest crimson” and envisioned the brightness of birds flickering through the quiet. Great last line, “As I was another dish.” Lovely. ~~ djl
Truly, while very true to this time of year, a metaphor for how, in the most dismal of times, there seems to be some serendipity that will bring newness and magic into a plain and ordinary day. Thanks for writing what it's like to experience such serendipity that nature bestows upon us.
Reminds me of the times I would be in the very cold dead of winter in a barren landscape of trees dormant and leafless, only to hear the cheerful sound of chickadees come playfully through the quiet forest lifting my heart with their playfulness as they scoured the limbs and branches for dormant insects just below the bark.
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Peace be with you
William
At the edges of my spirit
Threatens to overcome me.
Many can/will relate to this, Rebecca. But your poem ends on a delightfully hopeful note brought on by the lovely symbolism of the red bird (cardinal). Thank you for sharing, Rebecca. Love and best wishes to you,
Regis. 🙏🐦🌳🌲💚
Reminds me of the times I would be in the very cold dead of winter in a barren landscape of trees dormant and leafless, only to hear the cheerful sound of chickadees come playfully through the quiet forest lifting my heart with their playfulness as they scoured the limbs and branches for dormant insects just below the bark.
Ron