Your little voice stops cold my fast steps.
Standing, alone and hurt, your bike fallen
to one side and big tears welling up.
Kneeling, I face the tenderness that is you
and I see beauty, where mommy can make the world right.

Suddenly our walk slows down
and I, present to time together witness
the gifts all around. Looking up,
silhouettes of bare branches
wave brown between me and the sky.


On the ground snarls and brambles,
trees and twigs lie stripped bare
nary a bud or leaf, a hint of green.
Kneeling, I face the roughness that is
the end of winter, and I see the beginning, hope.


Along the path, a thousand steps trod,
a thousand people pass and suddenly I see
for the first time the ridges of grey bark –
contours of a life well-lived. Beauty
hides in mysterious places.


A solitary bead, a black diamond glinting
on the hand of a weed and
I only saw it when I bent to grab the runaway
soccer ball. A gift, hidden in plain sight,
unseen until I knelt.


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