Weed-eating,

Pulling away dead things.

A taste of spring wafts through the air

Through the scent of freshly mown grass.

Neighbors gardening, planting seeds.

Waiting for rain to drench the soil.

A light breeze calms the soul,

Promises gentleness and better days ahead.

The sun peeks through storm clouds,

Reminding me it’s still here.

Light rays kiss the wildflowers,

And they respond by multiplying,

By whispering, “It is time.”

Time to grow; time to flourish.

Time to scatter throughout the earth and bring joy.

They giggle along with the children who get to be children

And touch grass with bare feet.

And skip down concrete paths in sweet neighborhoods

With parents keeping a watchful eye.

And ride bicycles as the wind rides along.

It is time.

Time for you to see how sorrow finds its way to joy.

How grief connects itself with love,

And isn’t that beautiful?

Isn’t it beautiful when death gives way to life,

And winter becomes spring?

It’s difficult. So difficult.

The storm clouds will rain,

And those seeds will be buried in a dark place,

And all hope will seem lost.

But the sun’s still here.

Hope is on the horizon.

He works all things together for good.

And isn’t that beautiful?