Morning mosaic

I admire people who work on their writing. I don't. I place words in an order which seems right. Then I leave it. I am concerned about worrying something to death. So I don't. I figure tomorrow's mosaic, or collage will be different.

I approach writing

Like a morning mosaic

The words are colored glass

Maybe a rock

From the backyard

Maybe a leaf

From the redbud

Maybe more like a collage,

One picture among many.

I have no idea

Which ones are good

In anyone’s eyes.

I write in the morning,

A morning mosaic,

Write down the words

That come

Put them in place,

Leave them be.

Tomorrow will bring

Something else

Another mosaic

Another collage

Different colors or maybe

Another in a series.

I never know

What comes next.

Overnight the redbud

Sometimes change feels immediate, even when we know it's been coming.

Overnight the redbud

Turned completely yellow

Even flung gold leaves

On the sidewalk

With last night’s rain.

Overnight

The redbud

Changed.

Sometimes change

Is like that

Sudden

Immediate.

We miss the first leaf

Then

Suddenly

Every leaf

Gets the message

The fall message,

Most at once.

Change is like that

Sometimes.

Assessment

Assessment always seems to include extra variables.  This time it's allergy season.

In the midst

Of profound allergies

How can I tell

Whether this particular dose

Of antidepressant

Is the right one?

In between sneezes

I assess my mood

Try on difficult conversations.

I watch the birds

In the backyard,

Take in

The pink of the crab apple,

The purple of the redbud,

The trees full leaf already,

Changed from spring

To summer green.

I watch the dandelions,

Remember the surprise goldfinch

Hiding there.

I consider ordering

A floral dress

From the J. Peterman catalog.

Is this dose enough or perhaps

Too much?

More

The redbud is an amazing tree.  In spring the blossoms even pop out of the tree trunk, almost like nothing can contain them, there are so many.  It was fitting to arrive home yesterday from an amazing workshop, home from unpredicted encounters with unexpected people who told me what I needed to hear.  And then... and then... to find the sidewalk seams filled with fallen purple buds,   And then... to realize there are more buds yet to fall.

I drove home

Through flowering trees.

I walked up the front walk.

The concrete sidewalk seams

Were filled

With purple buds

Yet the redbud

Remains full.

There are more to come,

More to fill

More cracks,

More to stay on the tree

For right now,

And then

More to fill the cracks,

Even more

To line the way,

To light the way

To the front door.

Job lists

Thank God for the crabapple and redbud.  Their spring beauty will most likely be fleeting, with rain predicted over the next couple days.  I know from past years when the redbud lets loose, the sidewalk will be covered in purple buds, and I will process to the car, like a bride walking through rose petals.  It is good to know hope will be fulfilled.  Soon I may even cancel all those job listings.

Most mornings

Jobs arrive

In my inbox.

I have subscribed

To various lists.

Why I still hope for jobs

In the inbox

I don*t know.

I barely look at them

Anymore.

Still it is strangely comforting

To know there are positions

Waiting.

I wonder whether

They will be filled

By a blonde

Or perhaps by someone

With the right assortment of letters

After their name

Or maybe someone

Who has counted their hours

Exactly right.

The jobs arrive                               

In my inbox.

I barely see them anymore.

This morning the crabapple flowers

In back,

The redbud

In front.

It seems there are different things

To hope for,

Different things

To find.

Possibility everywhere

I realize I have been trained to more fully experience Holy Week.  28 years walking through Holy Week as a priest has affected me long-term, whether I am in charge of Holy Week liturgies, or not.  

This is the week

My senses

Kick it up a notch.

If there are any connections

To be made,

I make them.

I know the redbuds are connected

Underground

With all redbuds

Everywhere.

Perhaps it is dangerous for me to begin

Something new now.

It will naturally connect

With everything else.

Soon I will be overwhelmed

With possibility.

This is the week

Of possibility.

Everything is connected

Underground,

Even above ground,

In the air.

I smell the lilacs on the breeze.

I feel the ground beneath my sneakers.

It moves in connection

With all things.

Everything matters.

There is possibility everywhere.

Even before death,

Resurrection

Is immanent.

Redbud No. 2

There is a small redbud outside my office window.  My window is level with the sidewalk.  If it were an apartment, it would be a garden apartment.   I have decided it is a garden office.  There is no need for a container garden in my window well.  No.  I have a redbud!  It is better than any container garden I might plant.

I was welcomed home

By the redbud on Sunday.

When I got to the office today

I noticed a small redbud

Out my window.

Better than any container garden,

I have a redbud here as well.

Better than any garden apartment,

I have a garden office:

A window that opens and shuts,

Child voices in the hall,

A redbud in full bloom.

It is better

Than anything I could plant

Myself.

Redbud

I go into a different mode in Holy Week.  No matter whether I lead or attend or miss worship services.  There is no need to write a separate Lenten blog during Holy Week.  It is its own time and permeates everything.  I will probably publish this same paragraph there (or here, depending on where you are reading it).  We missed the donkey yesterday, the palms, the Passion.  It does not matter. Today is Monday in Holy Week, no matter where I am, no matter how many errands I run. No matter even if I go to church, or not.  It is still Holy Week.

We were gone three days.

The cat has forgiven us

This morning.

The potted daffodils

Are six inches taller

In miniature bloom,

The clematis fully anchored

On the porch column.

The redbud in front has blossomed

In full celebration

Of our return.

Unlike the cat,

There is no spite on the tree*s part.

The redbud full purple

Hails Jesus* entry

Into the week.

No spite.

It is simply, fully,

A tree in spring bloom.

It has even figured how to bud

On its trunk.

The redbud redefines

Full bloom.

It does nothing

Halfway.