Tonight a golden shovel.
This has been a year of so much, everything
has spun, and turned sideways and upside down, has
dimmed and faded and lost its
color and it has been hard to find wonders,
or seeds of wonders, or to even
find a flashlight or candle to light the darkness
mostly there has been black and black and black and
silence and silence and empty silence,
and I have searched this frozen wasteland for small wonders and
I have scratched fingers raw in seedless gardens, I
am trying to lean in and to learn,
to yield, to accept, maybe even to love whatever
might come from his strange and lonely state.
I suspect there are lessons to be learned in this emptiness, and I
know that even though they feel much larger then I may
think I am prepared to handle, it will be
well, if I only yield and lean in,
lies life’s biggest truth, simply to
trust that all will eventually be
well, if we seek nothing but to be content.
© Carol Wilcox, 2022