Acts of Faith

The leaves have fallen and lie on the back steps,
their color faded, shriveled, barely a hint
of the life that just a few days earlier infused them.

it has begun,

that cycle of color and greyness that is your home,
that is your life, inevitable and full of change,
short days, long dark nights, and grey skies.

The last of the flowers will die, victims of cold.
and the garden will become a spikey graveyard
of what was, and yes, what will be.

You are part of that cycle, with your broken heart
and childish, hopeful spirit, aware
that the cold season is not a place to lie dormant

but to prepare yourself for spring, a season to plant and nurture,
to protect yourself from the cold of winter,
and hang on just long enough for the first warm wind of spring.

And so you read your books of prayer in the dark mornings,
and write your poems of love and hope, rituals,
and more than rituals, they are acts

of faith.

About This Poem

I have long believed life ran in cycles. And if life is hard now, it will become warm and loving again. It is an article of faith with me, even though it may not be in the prayer books.

The picture was taken on my back steps yesterday.

Tom