Catechesis of the Pussy Willow

How is it we do not dance 

Before the budding pussy willow

That fevered dance of David;

Flinging hands free, and wild,

And full of alleluias,

Shot through with glory

Revealed from each hidden life unveiled;

Or whisper sonnets,

Prayerlike, to a cardinal pair,

Incanting  the spectacle, their

Brilliant flash of crimson flight?

Why should the whole world

Not applaud the furred catkin?

Or brazen fuchsia petal?

Or tiny drop of rain?

There is a mighty revelation

In each tender seed unseen,

Or sequestered in a feathered nest,

Or ripening threading tendril,

Or thorn…

What hold the concrete nature of human consciousness

That steals our sight from such as these?

When, then, the words of God, through man,

Fall, emptied,

It is this—original scripture—

That endures, one

Writ of wind, and snow,

Cloud, sky, and sparrow,

Of larkspur and sawgrass,

Leaflets and toads,

And first breaths,

And last gasps,

Gooseflesh and ripe fruit.

Memorize, recite these seasoned verses

In an endless repetition of wonder!

Quote chapter, line,

Spoken not in tongues,

Or bound in threads,

But in the first gold of spring,

In loamy scents and sweet

Bursts of newness,

In pregnant, heavy heat, bracing chill grays,

And every verdant shade of green—

That sentient, fertile color poets invoke

When they speak of miracles.

The featured image is courtesy of Julie Jablonski and used with her kind permission for Cultivating and The Cultivating Project. 

Susan Mulder

Susan Mulder finds herself on a journey to find peace with herself and in the world. Writing poetry is a way she challenges herself after laying down her previous career/s to pursue God’s path for her future. With a terminal degree in fine art in painting, she has held several positions in what she calls her ‘old life’. Though Mulder continues to paint and exhibit and is the author of a poetry collection, No Ordinary Time, she finds her deepest expression (and joy) in writing and within the eyes of her grandchildren.