The Silo Still Stands

The silo still stands.
Unused it is still straight,
a few shingles missing,
the ladder still strong,
a few rungs missing.
It stands as the snow approaches,
Another storm.

Nothing flashy. Not enough
of abandonment to be a relic,
it is savable still, but likely
will remain what it is.
A thing once useful, abandoned.
Something of a landmark
missed when it is gone,
though no one can say quite why.

As a preacher, I admire such buildings.
I visit them. Imagine them whole and new.
Imagine them fully alive,
ruminate a bit on my role in life
To stand tall in a quiet faith
that believes things the world
gives lip services too. A oddity
in the landscape.

I admire the ones still standing.
Buildings. People. Faith. Love.
I visit them all. Often.
I sit with them, soaking in
their life, the bits and pieces
that give me value,
Which in the end is all we want,
to have value. To matter.
To stand where we are seen
long after we are gone.

About this poem

I think, when you come to the pastorate later in life (I was 58), it is a good thing. You live outside the constricts of what a pastor is supposed to be. (Though I am not sure I fit that mold, even now.). You see things different because you have lived outside those constraints for a long time.

One of the (many) lessons I have learned is that one of our basic needs is to matter. To matter to our family, to our significant others, in the world around us. We want to be heard, understood, valued, listened to, and to make a difference.

That’s what this poem is about, or at least what it began to be about. Sometimes poems take on a life of their own.

The photograph is of a silo just across the NY border from my house in West Pawlet, VT. It is not snowing in the picture, but it is here, now as I write, which is how the snow line snuck in there. Inspiration is everywhere.

Be well, Travel wisely,

Tom