Your Door: A Poem to My Son

Such is the challenge
To behold a door
To sense all it leads to
While not grieving more

To know if it’s opened
The Divine has willed
To praise, when it’s closed
His providence, still

Forth, amble with purpose
Or wait night and day
But ask for The Blessing
God’s presence, to stay

In the Echinacea

A Cardinal, spying from the pow’r lines by my kitchen window, acts tempestuously

As if he cannot resist me

Truth be told, I’m fond of him, too

Remarkable as he is — less a vivid red than most, and volume missing in the tufts of his shaggy cone

I know the migration he’s been through, and he needs that

Unafraid to ask, I say, “What is it you want?”

His response…be still, my heart!

I won’t betray his confidence, but we see eye-to-eye

It’s the reason he finds himself landing in my backyard peach tree at every possible opportunity

Poking around in the Echinacea, for calm

Glad I give him refuge, I leave open the door

Talking with him like this, leaves me wanting more