A Telling So Soft

Now I understand that there are two melodies playing,
one below the other, one easier to hear, the other


lower, steady, perhaps more faithful for being less heard
yet always present.


When all other things seem lively and real,
this one fades. Yet the notes of it


touch as gently as fingertips, as the sound
of the names laid over each child at birth.


I want to stay in that music without striving or cover.
If the truth of our lives is what it is playing,


the telling is so soft
that this mortal time, this irrevocable change,


becomes beautiful. I stop and stop again
to hear the second music.


I hear the children in the yard, a train, then birds.
All this is in it and will be gone. I set my ear to it as I would to a heart.
~ Annie Lighthart, “The Second Music” – author of Pax

So many themes run through our daily existence. Usually we can only attend to one thing at a time, most often the loudest. Yet if we listen and look closely, there is a softer telling just discernible under all the noise. Sometimes, like a fugue or canon, the themes trade places, one softer which becomes more apparent and insistent, then fading to soft again.

I want to hear the heart beat of the river of life that flows through me. May I never forget what is underneath all the noise.

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The Smell of Water

At the soft place in the snowbank
Warmed to dripping by the sun
There is the smell of water.
On the western wind the hint of glacier.
A cottonwood tree warmed by the same sun
On the same day,
My back against its rough bark
Same west wind mild in my face.
A piece of spring
Pierced me with love for this empty place
Where a prairie creek runs
Under its cover of clear ice
And the sound it makes,
Mysterious as a heartbeat,
New as a lamb.
~Tom Hennen, “In the Late Season” from Darkness Sticks to Everything: Collected and New Poems. 

While walking the sloping hillside of our farm,
if I listen carefully,
I can hear trickling under the snow.
I can’t see it but I can hear and feel and smell the water;
as a hidden and mysterious melt happens.
Thawing under my feet-
as winter drains away,
spring is on the move.

I witness that which I have no control over,
this subtle softening of frozen ground-
unseen, yet as evident as the steady beating of my heart
as I too begin to thaw and melt
through the miracle of flowing grace
into whatever comes next.


Lenten Grace — Pierced With Love

photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten

photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten

At the soft place in the snowbank
Warmed to dripping by the sun
There is the smell of water.
On the western wind the hint of glacier.
A cottonwood tree warmed by the same sun
On the same day,
My back against its rough bark
Same west wind mild in my face.
A piece of spring
Pierced me with love for this empty place
Where a prairie creek runs
Under its cover of clear ice
And the sound it makes,
Mysterious as a heartbeat,
New as a lamb.
~Tom Hennen from “In the Late Season”

And so, pierced by love, we begin the melt, readying for what is to come.  The thaw shatters us into pieces, no longer iced up and untouched.   A current of hopefulness now flows freely in deeply buried veins, warmed and pulsing.

Our hearts thrum.  All will be new.

photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten