Places 05: Streams

Late winter rains pour down, flood deep;
filling gullies, lifting creeks.
Flushing ice from caves— where creatures hide,
streams rush down on every side.

Dark-twisters land on searching hours,
winds tear inside my brain.
Upset by cyclones far beyond control,
I seek out calmer waters for my soul

As green-grass comes to curve
its living hand across wet lands,
as green spreads out in waves and streamers,
all is green but some is greener.

Light rises soft,
warmed deep within
pouring down and rinsing out,
drying up torn caves of doubt.

Streams of summer flowers
spring-soft from once soaked ground.
Walking on petals of stars,
portals burst open, life sees afar.

Change came inside last autumn’s rain—
against the winds of winter,
a lasting change remained;
through spring the coursing streams
broke free of iced rigidity;
through summer heat,
like slowly ripening golden wheat,
change rose up tall.

And I, in answer to each season’s call,
amid the dying leaves of this new fall
have grown to know that change
cannot change love away—

Goldenrod and asters,
this current season’s last bouquets,
concretely bloom across the fields,
God’s gift for me today,
this turning point in one long year
when He bent down with change—
to rearrange—

© Ginny Emery, an earlier version was published in Places, 2011