Ways of looking at the beginnings of rhubarb

Maybe I'll write something called Rhubarb Reflections. I love alliteration. I also love the other-worldly look of rhubarb's beginnings.

Here it is again.

Red knots break the ground

Promise rhubarb

Soon enough.

Still now

It might be alien growth;

Still now

It might be a body

Buried in the garden

Rising after a warm winter;

Still now  

It might be almost anything

at all.

I know

It was rhubarb last year.

Full day

Today holds a conference, new faces, perhaps some old; a client; and a closing birthday dinner for my beloved. Right now it holds coffee, cat, flowers and sun. A good beginning.

I face a full day

The cat

The flowers

The sun

Call me forth

Into the promise.

Rhubarb says

Once again the rhubarb has emerged in the garden bed... first looking other-worldly...now more recognizable. Spring is still doing its thing...a patch of warm, then frost, then warmer. Rhubarb says: That's just the way of spring. That's its way.

Rhubarb says

It’s not too cold for me

Once I begin spring growth

I follow through

As sure as rain and sun

As sure as the grass

Grows with me

As sure as the clematis

On the front porch pillar.

Rhubarb says

It’s a promise

You know

It’s a promise

And promises will eventually

Be kept.

Clipping back

More metaphors today.  He reminded me of vineyards, of pruning for growth, building walls to strengthen and protect, allowing for the possibility of better fruit.  Let my yes be yes, and my no be no.  Who knew?  Another prayer.  Amen.

I finally clip back

The clematis.

It will come back strong

Come spring.

That’s the promise.

This Advent

I sift and sort,

Pare and prune,

Tie up branches

That need

To be strengthened.

I put evergreens

With the winterberries

In the black olive vase

To remind me of green,

Lest I lose sight of it.

I clip back,

Sift and sort,

Pare and prune,

Tie up branches

In need of support,

Place green

In indoor spaces

To help me remember.

Pain assistance

Caller ID has helped us know what calls to answer.  Most often my beloved answers any call and has conversations with strangers regarding how we might invest our money, or who we will vote for.  Neither one of us has answered the Pain Assistance calls, but curiosity may win out tomorrow.

Since coming home

We have received five calls

From

Pain Assistance.

Caller ID

Is a wonderful thing.

We have not answered

The call

Five times now.

We speculate

About who or what

It might be,

What pain

They mean to address.

We think for now

We will not answer

But perhaps tomorrow

Curiosity may win

We will see then

How we got on their list.

We will see then

What pain

They promise

To address.

So much promise

I see bee balm next to thistles.  My backyard is not exactly orderly.  Neither, I think, is the Kingdom in which we live.  I am grateful to Robin Currie for her sermon yesterday on the Sower and the Seed.

Rain is promised

For this week

Yet sun still appears

In patches

For short moments

Then disappears

So the promise

May be fulfilled.

I understand

The corn grows higher

This year

In the fields

Of southern Illinois.

My backyard entertains

Bee balm

Next to thistles

So many seeds sown

So much growth

So much rain

So much sun

So much promise.

Advent Eve

Advent is my favorite season.  It seems the only season of the Church year which waits for two things at once, seemingly opposite things.  This waiting time feels, well, liminal to me.  An in-between time of sorts. This year we also get to wait for the comet to appear in the sky just before dawn.  

Advent Eve

The sun has set

The day will dawn blue

Tomorrow

Unless I look

Just before the sun rises

For the promised comet;

Unless I watch the sky,

Darkness incarnate

With a growing purple tinge,

Melting into final day blue.

Hope holds her hands

Pressed

On the baby

Riding safe inside;

Hope holds her hands outstretched

To the Promised One  

Who will return

Again.

The stage is set.

Advent Eve.

I await

The comet

Out the other side

Of the sun.

The sky will change

From darkness incarnate

To purple

To a final blue.

Hope bows down.

Her hands wait

In her lap.

Promise of iris

Iris is a spring flower.  I often buy them in April.  In this hot steamy weather I had to buy them, even now in July.  They are in the black olive vase, on the dining room sideboard, surrounded by baby*s breath.

I purchased

The promise of iris

In July:

Two bunches of purple iris:

One pale,

One deep,

Both barely unfurled;

One bunch of baby*s breath

In honor of yesterday*s dream.

The iris shows some promise

Today,

The breath holds the space

Between the promise.

July is not the month

For iris.

I was surprised to see them

For sale.

I will coax them along

For another couple days,

Trim their stems,

Add new water.

The promise of iris

In July

Is always one

Worth honoring.