Breathing Out

A smattering of snow. A few cedars.
Beyond, the bay with a light coat of ice.
it is a beautiful spot with walls and gates,
abandoned for the season.

I do not think they would mind
if I squeezed through the hole in the wall
to sit under the tree and worship
the God of emptiness, waiting

to absorb your pain and sin, and worse
the detreus of the world around you.
The noise. You sit and let the confusion
of love and loss evaporate

into a sky so large all the pain dissappears.
Your life is full of such temples,
man made and God created
and every opportunity that shows itself,

You stop
and breath
out.

About this poem

One of many poems I have written around Psalm 46:10 – “Be still and know I am God.” I seem to need “emptying” more than most folks. Fortunately I live a life that is full of temples.

The picture was taken in Kennebunkport, Maine. It was George H. W. Bush’s (Bush senior, who I admired and once shook his hand.) home church. There is a wall and a gate there. And I did clamber through just to stand under the trees.

For you purists, I will save you the trouble – I know the trees are not cedars. But I liked the sound and image of the word cedar more than fir. Such are the choices a poet gets to make.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom