Cracking Open

The other day, I wrote about the logging in the forest behind our house. I wrote about how the menacing sounds of the logging seem to echo the rippling losses of the Covid-19 pandemic. I wrote about the challenge of not doing anything and allowing myself to simply be with this destruction and the discomfort of sitting in the loss, messiness and uncertainty of this moment. You can read the whole post here.

After writing, I went out to the woods to be with the ache in my body, not just in my heart and mind. It had been raining all night and the air still felt heavy and misty. Either the colors were extra vivid in the misty morning light or my senses were extra sharp; I began to notice signs of life all around. It is springtime in Maine, a season that always feels like a bit of a miracle after a long winter. This year, though, against the backdrop of illness, loss, and fear, the promise and possibility of spring feels especially miraculous.


Amid destruction

Creation is emerging

Look and you will see


The acorn has split

Cracking open to new life

Spring is flowing in


The creek is running

High with water, sight and sound

of saturation


Bed of brown decay

Mulching oak leaves lie under

Verdant green lichen


Blown out of a tree

Whose sap is running and buds

are bursting with growth


Perfect insect hole

Borne into this rotting log

Now hosts a sapling


Stems of grass turn green

In the dormant brown field, soon

Deer will graze again.


New cups of lupine

Hold pure raindrops and dew drops

Sacrament of life


Blessings of wonder

Offerings of Creation

Look and you will see

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