December 19
Just beyond the expanse of well-kept grass,
the footpaths, the softball field … the children,
Beyond the cedar, sequoia,
sycamore, redwood, and pepper trees,
Almost out of reach
and seemingly beyond the moment,
December’s sun prepares
to descend below a line of roofs … homes.
A chill hangs tenaciously in the air,
deepened by the residue of recent rains:
The tastes, smells, sights, and sounds of summer
have given way to bittersweet memories,
And, like harvest time, fall must now give way
to the need for sleep — renewal’s beginning:
Soon, a shroud of hope will veil
the sensuousness of summer and the joys of fall.
Remnants of clouds that once bore
revitalizing rain accent the canopy above —
Itself a palette of color ablaze
with glory reminiscent of its Creator.
Quietly, softly, a blue-black blanket emerges
to be drawn gently across a living sky;
Orange, crimson, violet, cobalt, turquoise …
all must yield to night and endless points of light.
As briskly as his years will allow,
an old one moves defiantly along a footpath —
His hair white, thick, his face like worn leather,
eyes fixed on the way, immersed in the moment,
His back bowed (8) with the burdens of life …
and yet he offers a smile graced by the wisdom of time:
This one will not quietly depart …
though, as with all, in time, depart he must.
Two friends, rugged, confident, sculpted young men,
eagerly frame a chat with a game of catch.
Each throw is promptly followed by
the clear, crisp pop of cowhide meeting leather;
Each pop is punctuated with playful jests,
tributes to lost loves … shared dreams of future quests:
Summer lies before them, and the memory of spring’s
promise burns bright; but, one day, winter will come.
In the final moments of the sun’s descent
golden shafts of light dance wildly through the trees,
Aided by a gentle breeze: The interplay of
light, limb, and wind becomes an incantation
Calling forth a kaleidoscope of color —
dappled shades of pink, gold, green, and earth tones
Painted on a living canvass … limb, leaf, and grass.
The sun’s descent ends, the dance dies: The canvass fades.
And yet their end, their passing, brings no sorrow
because change illuminates the order, the meaning of mortality.
The fading canvass, the dying dance, the sinking sun:
In them is the seed of tomorrow’s promise.
The two sculpted young friends, the defiant old one:
In them is the evidence of hope eternal.
The arrival of eventide, the coming of winter:
In them is found succor for the listening heart.
For Heaven’s infinite majesty, revealed by the dark of night,
sows deep within the breast this truth:
We are not alone — which truth testifies of His everlasting love,
enduring grace, and gift of dreams to be pursued, fulfilled;
Knowing Eternity’s embrace we shall thus greet the sun, rising,
for we dance on the canvass of a new day
With new hearts, grateful and confident, because life’s quest
and Heaven’s promise lie ever and again before us.
And this is not all: For the waiting soul, attended by the still of winter,
is endowed by an ever-constant Heaven with the warmth of deep reflection,
Even communion, wherein courage becomes one
with the patience of maturity and a lifetime of experience … learning,
Thus bringing forth the seed of wisdom
and the assurance of spring renewed —
Which thing constitutes hope
and the gathering of strength for the new journey, the new spring.
Limb, leaf, and grass shall once more and forever become the canvass
for a kaleidoscope of color created by the dance of light, limb, and wind,
Night’s heartfelt truths shall become one
with a new and everlasting day of boundless joy,
Winter’s glory shall be continued in a new and never-ending spring
wherein Earth shall become one with Eternity, and
The sculpted, young friends shall become as the defiant one,
then all shall come forth, renewed, in His glory forevermore.
William Mason
April 30, 2009
