We’re midway through the “Monday” of our year, and so far I’ve used it as a catch-up day. With the departure of Christmas company I have post-holiday blues and little messes to tend to. Twinkle lights and pine needles linger like Covid still haunts. It is rare for me to skip out on the ceremonial first journal entry of the New Year – reflecting in gratitude and listing out all those glorious resolutions – but maybe the darkness of January in Alaska has something to do with my lackluster start to 2022. Or maybe I’m weary of starting too many years the same way: promising to slow down and focus on what matters. For real this time.
The Hope*Writers Writing Challenge launched this morning. The prompt for today: slow. The arrival of the challenge, and the kick-off word, could not be more timely. I’m in the midst of a small storm of the soul. Sifting through fool’s gold for what might still ring true.
Through a poem called “The Sudden Death of What the World and the Wolf Gave,” I’m exposing the world’s wisdom for what it is: false. The world rushes us to the public square where we must keep the pace of the crowd or fall behind. She robs us of time and energy like a greedy pickpocket.
And the ravenous Father of Lies. He has us believing the worst about ourselves before we realize we’ve been cheated. Where once hope bloomed ash swirls. Traders of peace for what we thought was wisdom, we are left standing with nothing. Nothing but ash and fear.
But ash like empty pages is the best place for beauty to bloom.
May your fears be overcome by the slow bloom of a holy beauty which cannot be rushed. Good art takes time.
Life Out Here 