Warmth in the Cold
After church, you walk the old rail trail
that runs behind your town,
along the creek, devoid of people.
It is too cold for people of good sense.
and yet, here you are, nose a little pink,
a little runny, breath cloudy. Mind
a bit in overdrive, too many troubles,
few of them yours, yet still preying on your mind,
weighing on your own season of light,
directing your mind too far into the myth of deserving
or not deserving, having to wrestle yourself,
praying without guilt or pride,
of mere acceptance and mere hope,
willing to accept the miracles I am given
as the light comes through the pines
and the down in your coat works its magic,
warmth in the cold.
About this poem.
I did NOT go walking on the rail trail behind my house today after church. Too cold. But that is where the picture was taken. I do not own a down coat. I am constantly aware and grateful for my blessings. And most of us wrestle with the “good enough” myth. Somewhere out of all that mess, this poem.