The log fell long ago.
No longer majestic, it has become the feeding place
of fungus and moss and spring flowers,
long after death, slow-motion proof
You see yourself in the fallen tree,
recalling your own fall in the wilderness
and the long years as you came undone,
the best of you lost to a slow death.
You became fodder to those that hated you.
A mystery to those that loved you,
A decade and more later the new growth
has joined the forest,
the Easter promise taken root
despite your propensity to rot.
About this poem
Easter is not only the central event in the Christian year, but it has particular meaning to me as someone who has crawled out of his own dead place, his own wilderness, and could not have done it without God’s love. I believe because I live.
Back to non-easter poetry tomorrow.