“…’tis Spring come out to ramble
the hilly brakes around,
for under thorn and bramble
about the hollow ground…”
I marvel at the yawp and bellow of new birth that abides in Springtime. The earth awakens from its long Winter nap of grays and brown, slate cold mornings and howling nights. Growth. Green. A million vermillion wildflowers scattered along the roadside, Bluebonnets waft in the breezes, low-hanging Wisteria envelops my yard and house in its savory perfume.
Spring emerges out of the fragrant mists and foggy dew o’ chilly mornings, shrubs and one-dry fields are enflamed with brilliant colors and burning deep greenery. The trees breathe wet and drop-dappled branches o’erhanging the firmament.
Of myself, I am brimming inward with wonder and hope and desire; my Spirit presses outward from within with such yearning. A fountain of fire, a leaping combustion, a shadow illuminated against a clear blue sky.
Ah me, sweet Author of eternity, that You should fashion such a universe within the infinite abundance of Your divine imagination and speak it effortlessly into being.
Observances having been made of late, of Death’s dying and Life everlasting, I can only glory at the freshness of this new season.
A little cottage continues to take shape; a Home emerges from empty boxes and bare walls. Music echoes through cast-open windows and rolls sweetly down the lane. Books fill shelves. Voices. Laughter. Baby tears. The fragrance of fresh-baked bread.
Old friends gather and reconcile, new friends are found in long-forgotten peers (of previous shared circumstance) now have bonds of greater import.
Newness found in old corridors, shoots and leaves spring forth from sleeping trees, there are portends of The Work.
Behind quiet doors, men speak ideas and hand-clasp covenants to each other… we prepare in prayer.
Everywhere I walk, I remove my sandals, for all that is… is His, and the Earth is holy ground.