The flower in garden is a new rose.
Now just a bud,
but already showing her color,
and the immense beauty of God’s love on this day.
Here the sun shines in the garden,
as the Water Of Life is poured on the rose,
Breathing affirming new graces,
into an already wondrous being.
all around surround her with love,
nurtured by the soil of generations past,
and those who are to come,
all consistent in one thing alone.
Like a story, the rose unfolds.
Soaking up sun and water as it silently,
does it’s only task,
to be beautiful.
When planted its color is hidden from view
only presented as it integrates
its life form with the soil;
Growing the roots which make up home,
and the obedience of growth.
Daily, it waits for God and others to attend to essential needs,
and returns only beauty,
and reassurance all is well in the world.
What if I had stayed here;
In this little village,
renowned for film crews, tourists,
the window peepers.
This little part of England,
locked in time it seems,
but full of visitors,
the only ones who can afford to come and stay.
So like Disneyworld,
I come to imagine what might have been,
if I had stayed in this little part of England.
In the house with the bedroom over the roadway,
where carriages brought ladies and lords to the ball at the manor house,
now of course a hotel, full of visitors with fat wallets,
And young second wives.
But stop, this is a village after all,
And I could have stayed.
But I am glad I didn’t,
and made my village my friends,
ignoring the trout stream and the postcard in which I now stand.
If a tree or plant could speak,
what would you say?
You might thank me for planting me with my friends,
or admire me because I look beautiful
if only for a couple of days.
Is it because I renew myself each year
becoming stronger and more wonderful.
Or I can just be,
residing in the larger garden, at one with all who reside.
Nothing can compare to that sunrise of Saint Patrick.
Of the returning sun once thought pagan,
Bringing light to a dark and chilly world.
Without this light and warmth we could not feel His arms around us
reassuring us with another day.
But, today’s light is different;
Of heavenly proportions it contains the peace I seek,
Undiluted and carefully painted on the canvas of my mind
But designed to immerse my soul in love.
A love reflected in the tranquil waters
which only echo light this morning,
undisturbed by the sun’s brothers wind or rain.
Letting our only thought be the reason we are here,
On this island, praying all night
In a Basilica of love.
The reward has come early this morning,
With a glimpse of what is to come.
Home is where you make it, many say.
But a home is mainly in the heart,
Even though without a roof it is hard to think such lofty thoughts.
A home is something we recognize immediately.
Even if we cannot explain it to others well,
Not just a place of preserving us from the elements.
But where our heart and minds dwell in harmony.
Sprouting like new growth
The pilgrims rise and fall
Like the seasons,
renewed and broken,
Broken and renewed.
Safely sheltered under the Tree of Life,
Knowing they are created human
And become eternal
As those before and since.
Now, living in a present,
The delights and the pains recede
At the water’s edge
As we all feel God today
In nature and in Spirit.