Here is a poem I wrote a few years back during the waning days of winter (very sad to see it go). The sap of the maples stands as a metaphor for the spiritual life. Enjoy!
Silent sentinels standing
watch over the palls of dead apathy.
Secret life flows with dreams
about which the snow cloak knows nothing.
Nor does it care but to lay still
and hold down what may be.
Alive to unseen potential stand these life-givers
patient in affliction yet active
in conspiracy, these lovely maples.
Invisible now is the glory
which has been and could be.
The new life of the vine
is like this, secretly planning
to supplant the cold with unbounded
fruitfulness on the now barren branch.
There’s not much to do but wait…
unless you’ve got a tap.
Reports, musings, sermons, happenings from a Presbyter (Priest) of The Episcopal Church who loves Jesus, the natural world, ice and snow, and is raising 3 children with his artist-wife, Erin McGee Ferrell. (This photo is of the Presidential range in NH taken from Vermont.)
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