Friday, November 30, 2012


None of the Toms are here today.  Today is all about edges and moldings.  Funny... I would have thought this would be last thing to be done.  It isn*t.  More things I don*t know.  Not too surprising, really.

The workmen
Apply edges to things
They are downstairs
I am up.
Conversation rings
In Polish.
Is all about edges,
Finishing edges.
Of course
There is still work to be done
After the edges.
But still
There is something satisfying
About paying attention
To edges.
A lot of my life
Is lived

Thursday, November 29, 2012

The cellphone

Now begins the push for an I-Phone.  Life is exciting here in renovation land.

The cellphone
Of my favorite only daughter
Is very sick.
It buzzes when a text
The text
Cannot be read                           
Or answered.
My favorite only daughter
Will not turn the phone off.
The new phone                                                          
Will not arrive
Until Monday.
I anticipate

Front door

It seems we made a good door choice.  The installer approves.  Indeed, he more than approves... this morning he waxed poetic.  He made a point to remind us that it was our choice, and we had made a good choice.  More on the options theme... even in the choice of doors.

The new front door
Is in place,
The threshold
No longer cracked,
One more step taken
In home renovation.
It all began
With the bathroom upstairs.
Before that
The leak in the roof.
And now
The new red front door.
The door installer
Waxed poetic
About our choice
In doors.
We encounter poetry

Wednesday, November 28, 2012


The kitchen renovation continues.  God willing, they will finish installing the cabinets today.  My beloved is set on a particular sink.  I care that water will run and whichever sink we end up with will work as a sink.  Thankfully, Tom, the design guy, is here to help.  He is one of the plethora of Toms involved in this process.  He is calm and centered.

The kitchen project continues
The workmen arrived
At 7:30.
They are all named
The sink we wanted
Is backordered
In China,
So we look at
Alternative sinks.
More options
Always more options.
A plethora of options.
Meanwhile one of the Toms
Uses a power saw
In the kitchen.
It reverberates
Off the tile.
I contemplate,
As best as I am able,
The oatmeal at Starbucks
With all the fixings.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012


There are still options to be exercised with the kitchen. I know there will be more options tomorrow.  Today the  kitchen cabinets are being installed.  Tomorrow they measure for countertops.  The cat is in the basement with his bed and food bowl and water dish... unhappy.  Today we have limited his options to make friends with the cabinet installers.  No one likes to have his/her/their/my options limited.

He*s been waiting
She*s been waiting
They*ve been waiting
Yes of course
 I*ve been waiting
To hear
There are options.
So often in conversation
In the counseling room,
The counseling arena,
I exercise options
Not in any
Therapeutic playbook.
I own many
The options
A lot of the options
Are not written down

Monday, November 26, 2012


There does seem to be some sort of a plan. Darned if I can tell what it is.  This week*s somethings inform next week somethings. I have a strong sense that it all counts... all of it counts for something.

I know I*m looking for something.
It keeps changing
Into a string of somethings,
A rainbow
Of somethings.
Last week*s somethings
Inform the ones
This week.
I find myself offering options
To clients
I had no idea about
Even the week before.
They thank me for options
I never even offered
In the first place.
I know I am looking
For something,
So I can offer something
Even when it turns out
A complete mystery

Time fulfilled

I love the church year.  It offers a different sense of time than that offered by the secular world we live in.   I saw the homeless man who stood outside of Starbucks, asking for a turkey and Swiss and a cup of coffee, black.  Yesterday he was a part of time fulfilled.  I know there is a new beginning around the corner.

Was a taste
Of time fulfilled.
The children took
Their rightful places
Next to their parents
Received their due
Gifts of God.
They were already
Those Gifts
As were their parents
As was everyone
Present there
In that place.
As was the man
Outside of Starbucks
Who asked for a turkey and swiss
A cup of coffee
Yesterday was a taste
Of time fulfilled.
Next week everything
Begins again.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

I love the spot

I forgot the beauty of sitting in the back of church during the later service.  Today I remembered.

I love the spot
In the Sunday service
When the children appear
From behind,
Try to figure out
Where their parents
Are seated.
For this
It is best to sit in the back
To get the full view
Of searching children,
Their church school teachers.
I love the spot.
It comes right before
The celebrant announces
The Gifts of God
For the People of God.

Christ the King

New computer with new key sensitivity.  Whoa.  If this is what the world looks like all gathered together... I think I prefer the old way, even if it was more difficult, and I had lost the apostrophe and had to make do with an asterisk.  Today Jeff and I share our experiences as a blended family at the adult forum at church.  Today is the reminder of the glorious end.  We begin again next week.

Today is the reminder
Of the glorious end.
Today Christ the King reigns
Over all.
The world
Gathered all together:
The Kingdom Come;
The Will be done.
Today: a picture,
The Glorious End
Of the World,
All the pieces gathered
Back together
Only to begin again
Next week
All over again.
Stay tuned
For the Glorious Beginning.

Saturday, November 24, 2012


I think we all needed the sleep and sheer downtime.  Of course my daughter has continued to run the weekend ragged.  I expect she will arise around noon.  Today is Saturday, glorious Saturday... the second one in a row.  I expect we skipped Friday this week, or Wednesday was Friday, or perhaps, because these days, schools get out the Tuesday night before Thanksgving, perhaps we*ve had a week of Saturdays or impending Saturdays.

I love the fact
It*s Saturday today
When it felt like Saturday
Two Saturdays
In a row.
We have all slept in
Three days now.
It is relative
To the individual,
What sleeping in
The cat and turtle
Don*t care
What day it is.
They sleep whenever
They wish.
Today I love the additional Saturday.
It is 10:30.
The cat and I
Are the only ones
We bask in the sheer Saturday
Of it all.

Friday, November 23, 2012


I*m nowhere near ready for even the thought of Christmas. Despite the lack of a kitchen for Thanksgiving, we all hung out yesterday together, watched Star Trek: Next Generation reruns, were half an hour late for our dinner reservation at Wildfire.  I called and talked with my brother and sister to catch up, and made an appointment to talk with my son in Minnesota this morning.  Still... my daughter left at 10 PM and was home at 3 AM... and is even now... asleep, Christmas shopping complete.  

I feel that I am ahead
Of the game.
I called every farflung
Family member
For Thanksgiving.
One member of the immediate household
Has me beat.
She has planned Christmas
She did the midnight run.
She is sound asleep
I believe the packages
Are squirreled away
In her room,
Like nuts,
Buried under the bed

Thursday, November 22, 2012


So.  I told my beloved about the dream.  You do remember the Challenger blew up?  he said.   I hadn*t.  I was delighted that we got to learn teamwork before we took off.  I was captivated by the scenery.  I was amazed that we had the road... all to ourselves.  I figured the name said something about what lay before me.  I had forgotten... it blew up.

I slept in.
There was no kitchen
That beckoned
Thanksgiving preparations,
Not even a side dish
To share.
I awakened this morning
From a dream.
I was part of a crew of four
Two women
Two men
On the Challenger.
We were off
To the moon.
Preparing for lift-off,
I closed my eyes. 
When I opened them
We were rolling along
A beautiful road in the country
Golden yellow maples
On either side
The bluest sky
I have ever seen.
It seems we had to learn teamwork
Before we were allowed
To take off.

Pomegranate seeds

This year we are eating out for Thanksgiving.  We are going to a buffet which is donating part of the proceeds to the Chicago Food Depository.  When my daughter and I were in the grocery store yesterday, we noted the pomegranates.  We also saw, for the first time ever, on the top shelf of the prepared fruit section, a plastic container of pomegranate seeds.  I wonder what a restaurant would do if we sneaked it in under our coats?

This year we have no kitchen
For Thanksgiving.
Is out of the question.
Of course,
For most people,
Pomegranates do not figure into
The Thanksgiving equation.
In my family
Pomegranate seeds
Always spell out
In the green salad,
Sections of pink grapefruit and sliced cucumber
To hold them in place,
So they do*t all slide
To the bottom of the salad bowl,
No longer a garnish,
But instead a part of
The remains of the day.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

A Thanksgiving poem

I am sitting in a messy family room in a house with kitchen parts strewn everywhere.  And I am amazingly thankful for possibilities which allow me to clarify what is really important.

I am thankful
For the cat snoring
Next to me;
For the turtle
Making bubbles
In his water dish;
For the daughter
Snoozing upstairs;
For my beloved husband who just left
For work
With a spring in his step;
For the head hunter
Who contacted my beloved
About a possible job
In my home state
Even though
My beloved
 is not looking.
I am thankful we figured out
Very quickly
How it might work out
If we were
To move
Out of state.
I am thankful for a new kitchen
In the works,
Even though it was not in the plans
Until next year.
I am thankful for possibilities
Around every corner,
The ability
To consider them.
I am thankful to be here:
Wherever here

Outside the nursery school

I remember being five.

After the children have left
The teachers
Clean up.
When I open my office door
I encounter a child
With a trash bag.
I*m Cameron.
I*m five,
He says.
I*m Catharine.
I*m fifty-seven.
Good to meet you.
His eyes get wide,
He says excitedly.
I wait.
And wait.
Then it comes:
There is a girl in my class
Whose name is Catharine!
I take in this
Wonderful news.
That*s great,
I say.
Yes, it is,
He agrees.
Somewhere in the other room
His mother calls:
Don*t forget the trash bag.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


Long around age fifty I had a dream.  I entered a big stone courthouse filled with long tables.  I was given a large sheet of newsprint and a box of markers of many colors.  I was told to list my accomplishments, and when I was done, turn it in on my way out one of the doors in the back.  I filled out half the sheet, looked at it carefully, and decided I was not done yet.  I left my sheet on the table, and went out the way I came in.  I do not remember what was on my list... only that I was not done yet.  The question remains:  When will I know I am done?  When will any of us know?

When do we know
We*re done?
Done speaking?
Done listening?
Done waiting?
Done doing?
When do we know
We*re done?
When has
Enough water flowed
Under the bridge,
Over the dam;
Enough rain fallen
On the just,
The unjust;
Even enough grace
Sprinkled like fairy dust.
When do we know
We*re done?
When do we know
We have accomplished
What we came here
To do;
There is simply
No more room
On the page
To list
One more thing?
When do we know?

Wealth of thought

Every place I work or have worked assesses people and things differently.  In my volunteer job, on Mondays, there is yet another way to assess people.  I am learning the value of multiple ways of identifying things, the value of diagnosis: not to put people in a box, but simply to learn anew where... to begin.  I am richer for it.

I worked
On the twelve page assessment.
I found the check box
Poverty of thought.
I know it is
An official term.
Still I see
A child on the street,
Nose pressed to glass,
The outside
Of a schoolroom window.
I want to invite him in,
Invite her in,
To sit in the front row.
I want
To teach to a broader curriculum,
Hold those poor thoughts
In the light,
Expand those poor thoughts
In the light.
I want to mark a newly created box
On a different page:
Wealth of thought
It would read.
A venerable and veritable
Wealth of thought.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Game change

I consider myself an unlikely candidate for the role of elder statesman.  Elder stateswoman?  Convention convinced me.  I am on a learning curve.

What is the female equivalent
Of elder statesman?
I*m it.
I do not know
When the transition happened.
The game has changed.
I do not know the rules.
I do not know
The dress code.
I do not know
Where I sit
At the table:
The head
The foot
Or somewhere
In between.
Maybe I am
Under the table.
Carefully I consider
What happens
Underneath the conversation
Going on
Above me.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Changing Guard

I attended Diocesan Convention this last Friday and Saturday.  I did clergy registration with another colleague as we have done for the last fifteen years.  It is Very Clear the guard is changing, indeed it has changed.  Gradually... then suddenly.  I grew up with A. A. Milne and Winnie the Pooh.  It is not a surprise to me that Buckingham Palace was floating through my head when I awoke this morning.  This, it seems, was my last year doing clergy registration.  I will miss it.  No one has forced me out.  It is simply change the guard.

Buckingham Palace

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
Alice is marrying one of the guard.
"A soldier's life is terrible hard,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We saw a guard in a sentry-box.
"One of the sergeants looks after their socks,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We looked for the King, but he never came.
"Well, God take care of him, all the same,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
They've great big parties inside the grounds.
"I wouldn't be King for a hundred pounds,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
A face looked out, but it wasn't the King's.
"He's much too busy a-signing things,"
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
"Do you think the King knows all about me?"
"Sure to, dear, but it's time for tea,"
Says Alice. 

Saturday, November 17, 2012


Convention was stunning... in so many ways.  I*m sure I*ll write more about that later.  But this was the Gospel passage at Convention Eucharist this morning.  We are all used to thinking of Peter as an impetuous doofus, yet he figures up front in the Gospels.  He denies Jesus three times (at least), and has to reassure Jesus three times that he will feed Jesus*sheep.  What is it with threes?  I often need to hear things a few times before they sink in.  And then there are my three seizures, carefully spaced nine months apart, so maybe finally I*ll get the message, some message to pay attention.  One didn*t do it.  Two didn*t do it.  I have learned so much the third time around.  Maybe just maybe God works in threes.

I wonder if God
Works in threes.
Saying something once
Just doesn*t
Seem to do it
For any of us.
Face it
We*re all
Like Peter.
Even those of us
Who don*t leap
Out of boats.

Peter, do you love me?
(Of course, I do)
Feed my sheep.

Peter, do you love me?
(Yes Lord, you know I do)
Feed my lambs.

Peter, do you love me?
(Yes, yes, yes)
See those sheep over there?
Feed them!

Three denials
Three questions
God three but really

Most often it takes me
Three times
To hear
What God might be saying.
Once I get something set
In my head,
I need to hear
Before I believe
I might possibly
Be wrong.

I wonder if God works in threes.
I wonder if somehow we are set
For threes.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Wake-up calls

I woke up this morning by myself.  Wake-up calls come in many forms.  I believe God tailors them to fit each one of us... particularly.  I figure part of my most recent wake-up call has been in the seizures... three of them, placed nine months apart.  This time around I think I*ve gotten more attentive.  I am hopeful not to be dropped to the floor again so as to get my attention.  It does seems that some of us need more than one wake-up call. 

They come
In many forms.
They seem sized
To fit
The potential one
Some of us
Need several calls
We answer the phone;
We get the message;
Even before
We decide
To sit on the side of the bed,
Place our feet on the floor
Get dressed for the day
Eat breakfast;
Wait to see
What comes
In the light of day.

Thursday, November 15, 2012


I often talk with clients about the value of seeing and talking about things outside the confines of our singular mind.  Things often look different in the light.  I am in a place of change, particularly change of my support network.  I realize as I look at the pieces on my desk: my desk is full... my life is full ... I am already living in a sort of paradigm shift.  There is already a different currency exchange.

It is almost noon.
I lay my support
On the desk
In front of me.
I note the pieces
Which go together:
Who stands on whose shoulders;
Who is missing;
Who might be
To the mix.
I would like
To barter,
Trade support
For support.
I imagine a world
Where no one pays
For anything,
Everything is offered
Around kitchen tables.
I imagine
A world that runs
On different currency.
I realize
I am wealthy in support
Of all kinds.
My desk is full.
I realize
I am full.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

A dawn breaks

I figured I would sit in my office today and do paperwork.  I made good arrangements to refer a client.  I spent time feeling a lack of colleagues who practiced mental health, addiction counseling, and saw things through a spiritual lens.  Then dawn broke.  And broke again.  I believe the next thing on the horizon is putting together such a colleague group.  There is even a parlor next to my office.  Interested?  Let me know.

A dawn breaks
As I sit in my office,
No clients around,
An empty parlor
Next door.
Sometimes a dawn
In silence,
In the middle
Of the afternoon,
An empty parlor
Next door.
A dawn shows itself,
Its colors
Break clear as new light,
No matter the time
Of day;
No matter
The cycle of the sun;
No matter the clouds;
No matter even
When it*s time
For supper,
Then bed.
Sometimes a dawn arrives,
Hoped for
Of course
But still

Wellness coach

I know my health insurance provider has adopted the wellness coach idea as something that may reduce risk.  They are a health insurance provider, after all.  Apparently November is diabetes month, just as October the focus was on hypertension.  I can hardly wait for December.

My health insurance
Somehow determined
I was in need
Of a monthly
Wellness coach.
I wonder how long
They will find this
This month the focus
Is diabetes.
I answered the questions
On the survey.
My major risk factor
Is being older
Than 45.
I am also
Not the optimum weight.
Not far off
But still
Not the optimum weight.
I thanked my coach
For her encouragement
And motivational pamphlets.
I do not plan
To use them.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012


The field of recovery from substance abuse, the twelve steps of AA, offers a range of helpful metaphors, for anyone and everyone making any kind of change in his or her life.  Today I am in detox.  I am not an alcoholic, but still, change does not come easy.  First of all, it is important to let go.

Today I am in detox.
I aim for recovery
In time.
Today I am in detox.
I admit that I am powerless.
I know that God
Is just around the corner.

I reclaim power
By finding
A good metaphor.
The metaphor provides space
To reconsider
What it seems
Has always been
The case.
A good metaphor
Allows space
To turn things
Upside down
Inside out;
To stand on the moon
See the earth
From a different place

Monday, November 12, 2012


People regularly ask me: How*s your practice going?  I think it is going the way it needs to go.  Of course that is most often not the answer they are looking for.  Today is Monday.  I am not in my office on Mondays.  Mondays are volunteer days at the Clinic.  Between sessions I sit with the interns and other clinic people.  We have our own kind of group.  I like groups... of all sorts.  I believe people are meant to be in groups... of all sorts.  

There is a large space
Next to my office.
It even has a fireplace.
Last year they found a dead animal
In the chimney.
Now that the air is truly clear,
I know
It would be perfect
For group therapy.
Already a group meets there
Every Monday night.
The rest of the nights
Are free.
The senior high meets there
Every Sunday morning now,
In that large comfortable space
Next to my office.
I envision groups there
Every night
Of the week,
While Zumba dances
In the basement.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Door week

I christen this: Door Week.  We had an absence of contractors recently while we waited for everything we ordered to arrive.  Things are wearing thin on the humans in this space.  The cat and turtle, on the other hand, seem fine.

Of all of us
The cat seems best
At making every space
His own.
Of course the turtle
May have him beat.
His glass tank has not changed
With the renovation.
The construction guys
Return tomorrow.
This week
 Is door week.
This week (perhaps)(we*ll see)
They replace all the doors
On the back of the house,
The front door,
And even
Our shower door.
It has been leaned against
The dining room table
For three weeks.
We ordered it special
With rain glass.
Still the turtle
And the cat
Close behind,
They weather this
Like troopers.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

No callus

I believe we are always singing, somehow.  Perhaps it*s just the accompaniment that changes. 

In his collection of Bengali poems, Gitanjali, Rabindranath Tagore writes that the song he wanted to sing has never happened because he has spent his days 'stringing and unstringing' his instrument.

Source:  Joyce Rupp, OSM, May I Have This Dance?  (courtesy of Inward/

I played guitar for years.
Now it sits upstairs behind the chair.
Not very often,
I pick it up.
My heart has things
It wants to express.
Of course the guitar
Is always
Out of tune.
Most of the time I spend
Getting it to a place
I can play
Then my fingers
Remind me,
I have not played
For years.
They have not retained
Their callus.
My fingers are soft.
The strings leave dents.
Still I sing.
I dreamed I bought a flute
In Iceland.
I planned to learn to play
On my way home.
I returned
Flute in hand.
I do not know the first thing
About flutes.
I imagine I play anyway.
I have a vivid imagination.
There is music
In my bones.
My heart has things
It wants to express.
There is music
In my heart.
Still no callus
On my fingers.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Productivity according to the cat

I think I needed the space today.  The cat is helping me be as productive as I need to be.

The cat is glad I stayed home.
Every time I think
I may be productive,
He settles in closer,
Stretches a leg or even a mere toe,
Settles in closer
The way cats do
Before they settle in
For their afternoon nap.
This of course is separate
From their morning nap.
Stay here
Stay here.
Stay right here.
Here is all the productivity
Called for:
A body to lean into
An occasional head scritch.
Stay here.
I know you stayed home
For me.

Cancelled plans

I am the one you see with a paper appointment book.  No IPad.  A cell phone that is the least complicated one I can find.  There is satisfaction in paper, even though I write on the computer.  My longhand is pretty much illegible, even to me.  Still, there*s something about a paper appointment book.  It allows me to cross things out,,, in crayon.

I cancelled the plans
For today.
I still must learn
How to schedule space
For myself.
The workshop years ago
Encouraged writing
Appointments with myself
On the calendar
In ink,
Permanent marker,
Even crayon.
Anything but pencil.
Nothing erasable.
I still must learn
To schedule space
For myself.
But still…
I cancelled the plans
For today,
Drew a curlicue line
Through them
In crayon.

Thursday, November 8, 2012


We have just gone off of Daylight Savings Time.  A new beginning is around the corner.  Whatever that looks like.  Before we begin again, leaving something else is required.  Sometimes we spend time in between.  I have had experience here before.  Funny, it always looks a bit different.

Leaving somewhere
Can open up the space
For arrival
Somewhere else.
The trick
Is to let go
And wait
For as long as it takes.
The church calendar wisely
Places Advent,
The beginning of the church year,
In December,
As the light winds down.
Eventually the light will return.
It always does.
It always does.
I tell you
I tell me
It always does.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012


I awakened with this today.  I figure this experience informs a part of my calling to stand in the middle of things.  The man who was elected that day is still the bishop.   His consecration was six months after the election on a converted basketball court.  Six months later I was able, finally, to ascent to his election.  It did not come easy.

Almost twenty years ago,
I lost,
Profoundly lost.
Only a voter
But I lost.
The election
Was for bishop.
I voted for the person
I thought
Best qualified.
Someone else was elected
On the first ballot.
At the announcement
The Cathedral erupted
In wild applause.
Everyone was invited to stand,
Sing an Easter hymn.
I was bereft.
I have voted in at least
Five bishop elections
In an almost thirty year tenure
As priest.
This is the only election
I remember.
The only one.
Every detail.
Every single detail.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012


We were going to vote early, but I*m glad we didn*t.  Instead, we ran the gauntlet of our neighbors, saw people we rarely see.  As always, there were ballot surprises.  I take some satisfaction in knowing one particular candidate counted us as HIS when we clearly aren*t.  I can*t imagine wanting to be county coroner.

As always
There are ballot surprises.
But first
The gauntlet of neighbors.
They check our name and address
Check it again.
I have no opinion
About the county coroner.
The final question:
Should someone be allowed
To hold two offices at once?
I can*t imagine this
As a good idea.
That was easy.
The poll watchers tell us
(when asked)
We are on the list
As supporting someone
We would never support.
Ballot surprises.
There are always
Ballot surprises.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Monday list

It is Monday morning in this house without a working kitchen.  The refrigerator is in the living room, the coffee pot in the bathroom.  None of us are morning people.  Mornings without a kitchen seem particularly difficult.  The routines we depend upon are out of whack.  Monday mornings, in particular, require a list.  I am grateful my beloved (and my driver) allows me an extra hour of space before we leave.  My ten o*clock client never rescheduled, so I will see someone at eleven.  I am grateful.

We still struggle
With the lack of a kitchen,
Particularly in the morning.
None of us
Are morning people.
I have to create
Morning lists:
Make coffee in the bathroom.
Take my shower
(Is this a day I need to wash
My hair?)
Swallow the morning pills
(only two)
Pack a lunch
(It*s Monday, remember?)
Figure out
When the driver
Actually plans
To leave.
Be grateful there is time
To write and post.
Every Monday I enter
A post-free zone.
Be grateful.
Be grateful.
Be grateful.
I awakened this morning
With possibilities
For the week.
A new client.
Two new clients.
New ways
To widen the circle
Of peers.
They all wait for me
As I wait for them.
Be grateful.
Be grateful.
Be grateful.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Loss is in the air

Today was the Sunday after All Saints.  I have rarely thought as much about this being the beginning of the end of the year.  The lessons wind down to Apocalypse, which is, of course, an ending which turns around to begin again with Advent.  Alpha and Omega, beginning and end, and  beginning again... with the end taken into account.

Loss is in the air.
Gray and gold and chilly,
I know I smelled snow
Felt the waft of almost bittersweet
Down my back.
Today we sang a song
Of the saints of God,
Patient and brave and true.
We heard again
God makes all things new.
Loss is in the air.
It blows down my back.
This is the beginning of the end
Yet still:
Trustworthy and true
God brings all things new
Alpha and Omega
And finally
Back to Alpha
Trustworthy and true
All things new but still
I remember the wind
Down my back,
The scent of snow.