Winter Sunset*

 

   I had hoped to be writing about crocus and daffodils by now, but winter seems reluctant to leave this year.

   Since the ground is still covered with several inches of snow, I thought I would use one last poem of winter.

 

 

Winter Sunset*

 

 

 

 

                          Not for winter

                      the raucous colors

                      of other seasons:

                      no blazing reds,

                      oranges and yellows.

 

                    Cold, brittle

                      days demand

                      classic elegance.

 

                          Muted tones

                      invite quiet

                      contemplation,

                      whispering of

                      Love's subtle Presence.

 

         * from Fields of Grace, Everyday Encounters with the Holy 

            by Cathy Scherer Stubbs, (c) 2011

 

 







Cemetery in Winter*

 

 

 Cemetery in Winter*
 

 

 

                            

                            Lives valued               

                      and remembered;

                      brief moments in time

                      marked by stone.

 

                     A holy place

                      of quiet reverence

                      where fragile,

                      sacred vessels

                      are laid to rest.

 

 

* from Fields of Grace, Everyday Encounters with the Holy

    (c) Cathy Scherer Stubbs, 2011





 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Breath of God

The Breath of God

      At this time of year there is often a fog that forms overnight and in the morning everything is painted with a thin layer of frost.  The smallest branches and pine needles are coated one by one - there are no clumps. 
 
     When I find it difficult to believe that God could possibly be mindful of so many individuals, I think of the fog and picture it as the Breath of God surrounding each of us and covering every aspect of our lives with Love.

Fields of Grace - Rainbow

Rainbow

 

 

 

                        Passing through

                          water droplets,

                          sunlight scatters

                          into colors;

                          a streak

                          of vibrant hues

                          crossing

                          once-threatening skies.

 

                       A promise of faithfulness

Christmas Cactus

 

 

Looking out the window at the bare trees covered with snow, my eyes came to rest on my Christmas cactus now in full bloom.  I spent a long time just looking at the plant with its bright red flowers and felt a sense of peace.

At a time of year when everything else seems to have gone to sleep until spring, the Christmas cactus responds to the shorter, darker days of winter in a different way.

It doesn't ignore the darker days, but embraces them and finds a way to bring beauty when it is least expected.  Buds appear, and burst into full bloom not on separate stalks, but at the end of the leaves; as if the blossoms were pouring forth from the innermost part of the plant through the leaves.

A reminder, that in the dark and cold of winter, the power of Love continues to move through us, blossoming even in difficult times.

November Shared Photo - A Banquet is Prepared

A Banquet is Prepared

 

As I look at this photo I notice that while the table is carefully set, it also seems a bit informal - there are a variety of plate designs, the napkins are placed under the spoon and knife instead of under the fork, and there is no tablecloth. 

 

These are things that usually happen only when family or good friends come together to share a meal. The dishes of food, ready to be passed around, lend an air of anticipation - the meal is about to begin.

 

This scene, carefully set, is a reminder that sharing a meal is more than simply eating at the same table.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Fields of Grace - Rope Swing

 

                           Rope Swing

 

                        Suspended by a

                          silver thread

                          it invites me to play,

                          promising rest

                          from the business at hand.

 

                       Stepping toward it

                          in my mind,

                          I swing freely

                          before reluctantly

                          letting go.

 

                       The invitation remains

                         whether or not I accept;

                         a gentle movement

                         calling softly,

                         waiting.