by Michele Morin
“As for man, his days are as grass;
as a flower of the field, so he flourishes.
For the wind passes over it, and it is gone,
and the place thereof remembers it no more.”
Psalm 103:15, 16
Every day there are fewer shingles — and more bare roof.
Every day there is less barn and more sky
it becomes clear to us that walls are also passing away,
a melancholy nod to the flowers of the field
who spend their winters in barn-storage,
The wind having already passed over their flourishing.
There is merit,
(wisdom at least)
in the contemplation of
a barn-less field,
a me-less world:
“Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
But Old Testament poets notwithstanding,
there will be a Second Wind,
Who will tease mortal hay back into clover, timothy, succulent greens;
stir the dry bones;
reconstitute my known frame, while that Living Wind whispers,
Michele Morin is a teacher, reader, writer, and gardener who does life with her family on a country hill in Maine. She has been married to an unreasonably patient husband for nearly 30 years, and together they have four sons, two daughters-in-love, and three adorable grandchildren. Michele is active in educational ministries with her local church and delights in sitting at a table surrounded by women with open Bibles. Connect by following her blog at Living Our Days, or via Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.