There are so many small changes, recently and more to
come, that I can’t truly get the long view that encourages
me to let the little details go. It’s possible that this is not
just me. It’s possible that those sun flares I hear about
do affect us in such a broad way that it seems to be
about me, when it’s not. It’s about us.
I turn to the poets who have sustained change with such
nobility. Strange word, nobility, and yet that is what we
are called to express right now. Listen:
“A garden inside me, unknown, secret,
neglected for years
the layers of its soil deep and thick.
Trees in the corners with branching arms
and the tangled briars like broken nets.
Sunrise through the misted orchard,
morning sun turns silver on the pointed twigs.
I have woken from the sleep of ages and I am not sure
if I am really seeing, or dreaming,
or simply astonished
walking toward sunrise
to have stumbled into the garden
where the stone was rolled from the tomb of longing.”
…….DAVID WHYTE, from his poem entitled,
Easter Morning in Wales.
Thank you for listening. May your day be good.