Winter Confession
A poem written at the onset of winter in Edinburgh, 2022.
– Edinburgh, November 2022
Oh Lord, you wrest me from my labouring
thoughts that grow dark and dreary in me,
you meet me in a fragrant place
And how I enjoy the quiet, and the breeze
and the birds–and the odours under my feet
of winter’s wet soil, where life broods in waiting
and the clouds carry heavily their burden,
the feast of heaven in anticipation,
the cold and the dark to be endured but for the moment.
For when the sun breaks (surely the sun breaks)
its rays are dispersed into all the manifold colours of the rainbow
spread abroad in every drop, like news of a good thing occurred,
of a birth or a wedding or a lost loved one returned
You send flowers and place them in the maiden’s hair
You give strength to the young man’s limbs
You root the old man’s laughter in unsearchable depths
it breaks through a lifetime’s despair, it sings like the creaking of a great, swaying tree, hearty, strong and free
and You imbue the old woman’s embrace
with the gentle warmth and heat of the hearth
with affection as pleasing as the fragrance of a fresh loaf of bread
and all the little ones are fed and have someone to call them by a name that’s their own
And they grow and they, too, learn about the flowers
and the laughter in the trees and freshly baked bread
and the sound of a story read by the gentle light of the hearth.
All these things I have seen and known
and have grown into an unkowable song
in me.
Oh Lord, you wrest me from my labouring thoughts
and meet me in your garden where I can dwell.
A true place, not a thought,
and it is good, and here I will ever be well.