Edges

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

Today.

They are downstairs

I am up.

Conversation rings

In Polish.

Today

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

There.

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

Arrives.

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

A

Very

Long

Weekend.

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

Everywhere.

Toms

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

Interesting.

The workmen arrived

At 7:30.

They are all named

Tom.

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.

Options

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

Playbooks.

The options

A lot of the options

Are not written down

Anywhere.

Somethings

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.

Still

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.

Still

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.

Yesterday

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

Black

Yesterday was a taste

Of time fulfilled.

Next week everything

Begins again.

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

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

Yesterday,

Two Saturdays

In a row.

We have all slept in

Three days now.

It is relative

To the individual,

What sleeping in

Requires.

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

Awake.

We bask in the sheer Saturday

Of it all.

Competition

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.

Still

One member of the immediate household

Has me beat.

She has planned Christmas

Already.

Indeed

She did the midnight run.

She is sound asleep

Upstairs.

I believe the packages

Are squirreled away

In her room,

Like nuts,

Buried under the bed

Teamwork

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.

Pomegranate

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

Thanksgiving

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.

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

Is.

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.

Hi.

I*m Cameron.

I*m five,

He says.

Hi.

I*m Catharine.

I*m fifty-seven.

Good to meet you.

His eyes get wide,

Oh

Oh

Oh

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:

Cameron,

Don*t forget the trash bag.

Accomplishments

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.

Yesterday

I worked

On the twelve page assessment.

I found the check box

For

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.

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.

Somehow.

I do not know

When the transition happened.

Somehow

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.

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 time...to 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. 

Alan Alexander Milne

Threes

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!

Threes.

Three denials

Three questions

God three but really

One.

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

No

No

No

Before I believe

I might possibly

Be wrong.

I wonder if God works in threes.

I wonder if somehow we are set

For threes.

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

 Awakened.

Some of us

Need several calls

Before

We answer the phone;

Before

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.

Support

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

Added

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

Freely

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.

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

Arrives

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

Unexpected.

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

Cost-effective.

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.

Detox

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

Perhaps,

See the earth

From a different place

Entirely.

Group

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.

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.

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/Outward.org)

I played guitar for years.

Now it sits upstairs behind the chair.

Sometimes,

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

Again.

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.

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

Sighs

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.

Certainly

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.

Eventually

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.

Eventually.

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.

Lost

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.

Voting

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

Then

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.

No.

That was easy.

No.

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 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.

No

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.

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

Yesterday,

Felt the waft of almost bittersweet

Loss

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

Again.

Trustworthy and true

All things new but still

I remember the wind

Down my back,

The scent of snow.