I weave in and out
Earth moves to spring
while people linger distantly, anxiously along the
The crocus splashes purple, yellow joy across the soil
while we turn inward, close our doors, peer longingly at our neighbors.
I yearn to zoom right into Mum’s room, hold her gently,
feel her arms around and those blue eyes up close and twinkling,
with no separating fear.
The yard with towering trees aflutter with color pays no heed to
as reds and yellows flash on wing from branch to branch.
Caws and squawks erupt in lusty pursuit as they perpetuate the wild;
unaware of our confusing situation.
Do the trees know our pain as buds wriggle free of casings
and paint horizons green and red?
Will the wind remember the order not to touch,
or come close, it’s teasing breath caressing my cheek?
Creation cries out. Look not to the pressing messages
flaunting on your screen.
Fear. Fear. Fear.
But breathe this air and let your hair be whipped by the gusts.
Look up! Blue sky and winged life soar above it all.
Look up! They cry.
Hope is here.
Creation cries it out.
Worship! Lift your branches, your petals, your wings.
Let your voice roar the hope that sings above all despair.
In the midst of mess and uncertain messages;
There IS a garden calling us back to life.
Even in sickness. Hope.
Even in grief. Hope.
Even in death. Hope.