Persistent through winter’s slog
It hugs the ground in determination.
Preparing to respond when sun and light invite,
An awakening of consequential manifestation.
Producing some of the season’s first blooms
As if emerging from a tomb.
Providing hope and promise consistent
With a forgiven penitent pilgrim.
It is the Lenten Rose.
Sprouts of green emerge
from winter’s slumber.
Persistent and hopeful against
the morning chill and March wind.
A foreshadowing of what will be.
Emissaries sent forth as harbingers of promise.
Some have been peeking forth for weeks.
These annual signs of seasonal transition
are visual reminders of rhythmic renewal.
While transitory figures bluster, they steadily return
– bespeaking the more solid footing of creation.
This too will come to pass – shoots of green,
blooms of color, fragrances of life.
Just as that too will one day pass,
noisy efforts at influence and posturing as if . . . . .
One seems very much eternal and offers reassurance.
The other will not last – “vanity of vanities” says the
Preacher of Ecclesiastes.
“A generation goes and a generation comes,
but the earth remains forever.” (Ecc. 1:4 NRSV)
© Daniel M. Cash 2025
Filed under Passageways, Poetry, Seasons
Dawn breaks over dew laden lawns with the spritz, spritz of sprinklers.
Dogs trot past, humans in tow.
Those artificial green islands shine against the season’s dry, parched landscape.
Soon bikes and backpacks will overflow sidewalks,
as porchlights yield to a school and work day.
Garage doors open and close – signaling the neighborhood’s
release to pensioners and stay-at-home parents.
It’s a September morn.
© Daniel M. Cash 2024
Filed under Community, Family, Passageways, Poetry, Seasons
Standing in the passageway with nervous expectation.
Determining the direction of steps not yet taken.
Whether to move forward toward an unrehearsed future,
or to retreat back to a familiar bastion of complacency.
Such are the questions of liminal spaces, which provide
puzzlement and entanglement to both fact and faces.
Weighing adventure against the safety of known routine.
It’s something like a morning shave or the exhilaration of stepping out.
The surprise is not to be here again, but that it took so long between.
Visits to this terrain being by nature repetitive;
part of chronology’s push beyond the screen.
Three steps forward, two steps back.
Advancing and retreating – such a common dance.
The music begins, will you?
Filed under Passageways, Poetry, Uncategorized
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