Be Still

The lopsided spring
drizzles along in her gray uniform
and squeaking rubber boots.

The opulent daffodils are billowing
in the coolness under dripping skies.

Just when we are all ready to surrender to sadness,
put our hands up and huddle in the corner of our grief,

the clouds step aside
and the purple flowering trees
release us on the sweet scent

of a forgotten trail
where love never wanted to hide.

Be still on the edge of this field
and God will arrive
without an invitation.