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Prelude To Spring

Bare Tree Branches

There are days your chest constricts so tight, claws of stress reaching through you, twisting your valves, breaking down your artery walls. These are the days to shrink from superficial social networks so the walls of fear — the walls that surround the space you were born to inhabit — can come tumbling down and you can march into Jericho and live the life you were born to live.

There are entire years you pilfered away pursuing this, that and something else. Entire decades hoping for love and acceptance from all the usual suspects. It wasn’t to be. It’s time to surrender your earthly desires and step into a future that is more holy, righteous, pure and divine.

When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. (Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians)

basketball winter

Yesterday, on the way to Sullivan’s basketball game he called to me from the back seat. “Mom,” he said, “Do you know why I like baseball more than basketball? Because the sun is so warm on my face.”

I give thanks for a boy who is more love than game, more mercy than competition. These are his spiritual gifts, but I am unsure of their names.

Winter Baseball Diamond

Pitchers Mound Winter

Prelude To Spring

The first official day of spring is still several weeks away, but it feels like winter is closing shop early. The park and the pitcher’s mound are hungry for bats and boys, gloves and balls. Silence stretches across the yellow grass of winter, nips at the playground, taps on the doors of the houses across the street. Porch lights and tail lights dot the blurry, winding lane. Sometimes, things are more beautiful when they are out of focus. Like those other glorious points of light. The lamp you put in your window. The lamp by which you read. The lamp that waves from the shore as me and my life go rocketing by.

Winter Houses Bokeh

For Johnny and Sam Lee

Winter in Crown Heights Park

Excerpt from Preludes by T.S. Eliot

His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
Rippling Creek
Crown Heights Park OKC
Crown Heights OKC
Sullivan Winter Park
Dark Creek
Winter Creek Crown Heights OKC
Gen X Blog Jennifer Chronicles

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1 Comment

  1. TamB

    Great, great post – you hit the nail on the head, Jen. Glad spring is nearly reaching you where you are. It is far from here in Canada, and it wears on the nerves. Your post was a perfect antidote.


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