Ice crusted sheets over November puddles
bespeak more of the future than this cold day –
evoking young hands at the piano,
first days of school,
fiancées betrothed.

Yet future is supple, too easily molded to look how we like;
the past too selectively recalled to completely trust.
Life occurs here, only just now –
meritorious as it flows all around.

So rejoice each promise the moment its made,
Celebrate first days whenever they come,
Cherish exuberance of youth-tended keys,
and pause at the feathery swirls
superbly adorning
frozen mud puddles
this time of year.

Such precious, ephemeral gifts
deserve our delight.
Praise God.
Here.
Now.

Listen to a conversation about this poem on the Reformed Journal Podcast.

Photo by Maximilian Müller on Unsplash

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