Theology of Trust
When the call comes to announce a soul’s sudden departure; a child’s end
And all I can consider in the moment is
the lives of thankless, lesser mortals extended far into old age,
The injustice of disease
man’s cruelty and indifference … these things in the landscape that never go away …
and then to close my eyes against the pain, reach out in silent prayer to
an ancient mother-father I neither know or understand, but sense
The mother-father of wishes and dreams
of birth, lovemaking, death …
why? Thank you it wasn’t my child
In this moment I feel so alone and feeble.
And then there is a quiet whisper, almost inaudible
Just against my ear or a faint humming in my mind
Reminding me that apples ripen in their time, unless they are first cut down
By drought or frost
In either case
The fates have their way. Ripening love or stealing it from us –
All there is for us is to tend our apples and trust.
Backyard Botanics@Miller Hill Farm 