Walking along the sidewalk
darkening the sky to a charcoal grey,
the rain falls across the earth in front of me.
The shower chills and makes wet all it touches.
Rain that normally restores, makes more problems than it resolves.
White flakes of snow would almost be a better substitute.
This isn’t spring.
Death may loosen its grasp, but it holds fast,
cold,
the days short.
God, where is spring?
Everyone else around celebrates
Spring is here! Spring is here!
The calendar may blare the date of the new season, but I don’t see you.
Spring,
the season of life
the signal of renewal
the promise to break through the darkness
the promise to pierce through the bleak cold and give new life,
blossoms of flowers,
returning of birds.
When will you come?
Whenever I wearily raise mine eyes to the trees and smile,
I see the new buds scatter across the limbs recently bare and grim.
Oh, what seemed like only moments ago.
You give me hope as you breathe your new breath,
but I mistake this sign for you staying.
My face is met with the inhospitable chill of a rain drop.
I have waited for you through dark agony.
I plead with you,
when will you come?
Spring,
I know you’ll be here,
when the clouds part
when the buds on the trees are full green leaves, the size of my palm
when the lilac, stocked full, blooms brilliantly.
When you come to welcome me, Spring,
the birds will sing their song renewed for the season.
I will look to the sky and see not a cloud in the distance.
Your radiant beam from the sun will caress my face,
I will close my eyes as the warmth glides its fingers down the side of my cheek.
As the smile forms on my face,
I will know you are here.
I will know then that you are here with me.
But this is not spring.
When the tulips and daffodils are abloom,
when the leaves of the reborn trees rustle as the wind passes,
when the stream glimmers from the shine of the afternoon sun.
Spring, when you make my heart overflow with the love and hope I’ve never known,
I will then know,
you have returned.
Soli Deo Gloria
