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
