They almost seem frozen, stuck in time; for the briefest moment I confess I pondered at the thought that they might have remained for me to gaze upon. I wondered if the Lord may have well kept them going for my sake, as a reminder to me that the coldness of winter is nothing compared to the beauty of spring.
A silly thought, perhaps, but even as I sit here typing now those flowers are still out and about. Delicate roses in shades of pink and orange and beautiful, tiny white flowers near the sedum that blossomed so beautifully earlier in the year quietly loiter in the garden; these flowers have remained and stayed strong, though looking at them now I believe they are finally giving into their need for rest.
It’s hard to explain why these beautiful flowers hanging on so tightly through the cold have inspired me so and kept my heart a little warmer than it otherwise might have been; when I look at them, even in the cold of the evening when the stars make themselves known to us, I just step away from the bitterness and crispness of the day’s events and really consider the strength within the blooms.
A parable if ever I saw one.
12th December 2013
Bitter night and crisp caress of grass beneath my feet
My longing heart can truly state I long for what is sweet
An anointing oil so fragrant in this bitterest of eves
To set apart what is my heart’s most hidden, rotten sheave
I look before me in the night at winter’s dying cry
A glimpse of colour swiftly breaks and pours before my eyes
Somehow, despite the current time, and in the dark I see
A stunning rose, frozen in time and perfect, just for me
I cannot explain the mystery of my mind that so conforms
To the beauty of these blossoms as they grow among the thorns
And yet they wait so patiently and hang on just for my sight
As I look upon them, broken, in the darkest of my night
Through petals chapped by biting cold and frost upon the day
What lures my eyes to tender thought and keeps the woe at bay?
As gazing at the whitened leaves, made so by mist prevailed
It fades away eventually and leaves a glistening trail
For the briefest spell my heart’s deep pain can rest upon his grace
As through his gentlest of creations I know I see his face
The wisdom poured in these fair blooms that cling to life, so still
Attest to his pure beauty and his Spirit sets to thrill
What might, O Lord, you so display through blossoms in the winter
They cling to you as I so do and leave me here to ponder
As though for me, for me alone, they are a refreshing sight
To break through the death and the decay that comes with winter’s blight.