Christ In Winter:
Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter…
If my mind cuts loose
and wanders on its own
without instruction or
direction
it slips off to forgotten
weed-grown pathways
where only snakes and
toads
and other slippery
creatures
dare now to go
But sometimes it finds
a light-blue speckled egg
wind-blown from out
a worried mother’s nest
I pick it up
and put it back
where it belongs
“I have woven a parachute
out of everything broken.” Wm. Stafford
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