September

Sunshine spills in the hours of morning—

Over the back of the couch and puddles on the floor;

Creeps gently onto every stalk and branch;

Drying each residue of nightly dew.

I wonder at God.

He is constant and sure and just like the day,

He is ever new.

All the trees are colors heaped upon colors

Until the branches groan under the weight;

Shed yellow leaves in the wind.

I find gold in every tuck of the ground,

Of leaf and sunshine both.

One rose bloomed and withered

In the span of seven days.

I loved it completely—its purpose not in vain.

Dry are the afternoons,

The trees hold lengthy conversations with the birds.

I try to hold my ears open

But it is a language I do not know—

Crackly ribbons of words whispered in the heat.

God unfolds each hour before me—

“This is the way; walk ye in it.”

I am not afraid with such direction.

At dusk, murmurs of birds

Constellating with a burbling whoosh into the sky.

My heart burns in the inexorable set of the sun

Seeping soft colors into the sky—

A good-bye—God be with ye,

God be with me and God be with thee.

Days opening and closing,

Bringing about the end of another month;

The beginning of another.

L. Adams,

September, 2024

I am convinced the solution is unfiltered love, holy, Christ-like; given freely and expecting nothing.