Spend Time in a Field

Leave the gate open

as the crescent moon 

hangs low in the west.

Walk slowly on the path

past the pond

to the place you planted

sunflowers, cosmos, and zinnias

in May.

Though the pumpkins and butternut

have all been eaten by the ravenous whitetails,

the flowers have unfolded and the palette of purples,

pinks, yellow, and red glow radiant

as the light fades into fall.

I walked with my son into this field tonight

gathering armfuls of the happy faces of blossoms

into bouquets that will shine something like joy

into each of the days of the coming week.

Careful not to wake the occasional bee

curled into the petals we have picked, 

we speak in reverent voices,

considering the trials;

the most common chaos

where God has forgotten the dust

she left in the corners

of anger, disappointment,

and the doubt of grief.

We stand together, silent

listening to the way night 

opens the door

with barely an effort

or flicker of force.