Every one of us is a saint

More on the icons. More on you. More on me. More on us.

Every one of us

Is a saint

Broken

Discarded

Maybe

Perhaps

We have been treated

As leftover wood

Until even one person arrives

Sees the gold

Even the possibility

Of gold

Within us

Writes our life

On wood

In gold

Perhaps a dragon

Under our feet,

Sword in hand

Kindly victory

In our eyes

Yes

Everyone is a saint

Every one of us

A reclaimed piece of wood

Perhaps reclaimed

Again and again.

Every one of us.

White fragrance

I was the Wednesday celebrant this noon.  I rarely do this.  Today was John Eliot, a provisional bracketed saint.  We're trying him out.  I believe his final vote for inclusion in the calendar is at the upcoming General Convention.  We'll see.   Then... home to find a clematis I'd given up for dead with at least six blossoms, fragrant as all get out.  A scan around the yard finds three more clematis I'd given up on, leafing out to beat the band.  It must be the year of the clematis.  Who knew?

I come home

From celebrating a bracketed saint

He has one more vote to go

Before he makes

The semi-official list.

I come home

Find the fragrant white clematis

Clings to the burning bush.

I gave it up for dead

Last year.

Two leaves

Then nothing.

Now

It is finally time

For garden twine,

Time to trim back

The burning bush,

Give white fragrance

Free reign.