is the soul
whose heart can see
that even life’s coldest path
is sprinkled with
It wasn’t until her fingers ached with the holding
that she stumbled upon what her heart most craved.
Recasting flotsam into jetsam proved complex –
each snippet and stub, accumulation of a misspent life,
ingrown toenails like colonized barnacles on a heartless hull.
Which to discard?
Where to lay it down?
Her broken treasures had put down diseased roots,
fusing flesh to failure, marrying captain to ship.
Scraping at the splinters, mutiny of the highest order,
was pain more exquisite than the requisite lashes.
But unimaginable riches winked on the sand
and sang Siren notes pure and sweet,
daring surrender, demanding an answer.
Her cries of agony crashed like breakers
as her keel cracked wide;
sea air seared skin freshly exposed to the elements
while baubles trickled to the sand,
frothing like the surf.
Layer upon layer,
all, all became Crusoe to her perfect storm,
her tears lost at sea
with the pounding of her chest
as freedom stirred chains.
she knelt on bloodied knees
before the pearl of great price
with all she had left –
If it’s treasure you’re after,
‘X’ always marks the spot;
the places where push shoves
and rubber smears the road
and frost-feathers freeze
are inexorably painting a bull’s-eye
on your soul.
Twenty paces shy of normal,
30 leagues under tumultuous seas,
the secrets of Life’s Map
are only drawn out under duress.
So cheer, Mate!
When troubles broil
and problems are plenty,
your treasure is multiplying –
Reverent blossoms, bowing low
Painted with prayerful brush
Gathered on pew-seats, just as though
Worshipping, grave and lush.
Each comes up empty, pockets raked
As off’ring plate is passed
But gives of itself, its beauty slaked
In finding true treasure at last.
This garden brimming with hydrangeas was one of our stops when a heart-friend hosted a long-overdue visit. The blooms and scents captured my imagination completely. Here, in my mind’s eye, the hydrangeas are finding that giving themselves to the world and their Creator is a greater act of worship than any they could give. Flowers do give of themselves unreservedly, whether anyone is watching or not. A lovely life lesson indeed…