Waiting

Waiting

by Marion Maxson

April 2012

Lagom Landing

Sun-bright the day,

Cool the March breeze,

I walk to the woods again,

out past the chickens, gathered,

awaiting our scraps...

We, awaiting their daily eggs-gifts.

Out past the workers, stooping,

turning the earth

planting apple trees, awaiting 

the day, in years

when nourishing fruit falls.

waiting

Out past the workers, pounding, sawing,

converting the old barn into classrooms

awaiting the day, in months

when students will come.

waiting

Out past the stoney place 

to the path through the trees

to the wet place

where trout lily leaves

all spotted in the sun

await their pointy yellow

flowers.

Maybe next week

if the sun is warm.

Out along the mown path

to where the pines 

whisper in the wind.

Here I find a sacred spot 

under one lone tree.

Soft needles on the ground 

await my coming again

on a warmer day

bringing blanket and lunch.

waiting

We wait,

yet already filled

we seek sacred spaces

for today,

for the future.

Awaiting the bets time

Awaiting the coming of God.