twigs

A week ago today, I put some forsythia twigs in some water and they have bloomed! It reminded me of this poem.

Quickening by Mark A. Noll

Dead trees draw life
when the days expand and the sun
fulfills its promise, oft delayed
by the clutch of ice.

Clotted, gnarled, knotted twigs
on the trees sense sap and the death
of death. They stretch, begin
to puff green on the end.

Men sing new songs
of a Life laid down for rebirth
when Easter is the Spring
and the branch is Christ.


Grace and Peace,
Jane