 Hosanna whisper the hepatica, First ephemerals of the forest floor. Hosanna groan the elder beach, Succumbing to disease. Hosanna sing the nuthatches, Drowned out by the roar of traffic. Hosanna proclaim the deadwood, Offering life to others. Hosanna spoke the oak, Matriarch of this place. Hosanna shouted the stones, When the people were silent. - Wendy Janzen Inspired by Palm Sunday passage in Luke where Jesus says that if the people were silent, then the rocks would cry out, as I listened to the voices of the forest around me on a Sunday afternoon walk through Breithaupt Park. Hosanna means "save us."
0 Comments
Winter's joy comes in fluffy snow
brightening the drab landscape, pillowy soft to catch my falling body, sculptable magic inspiring creativity, insulating life and promise. Joy comes in howling winds and stormy weather that shuts down roads, schools, meetings, creating space to curl up at home and the joy of missing out. Joy comes in the persistent song of a cardinal in February, perched high atop a bare tree, brilliant red against brilliant blue, singing for love and life. Joy comes in remembering we are enough in who we are today. we are not our labours. We are not our achievements. We are deep, strong, resilient, connected. We are made for joy. - Wendy Janzen  This is my found poetry based on a quote I shared in our February newsletter. Here is the full quote, followed by the poem I created.
"Once we stop wishing it were summer, winter can be a glorious season in which the world takes on a sparse beauty... It's a time for reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishment, for putting your house in order. Doing those deeply unfashionable things--slowing down, letting your spare time expand, getting enough sleep, resting--is a radical act now, but it is essential." (Katherine May, in Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times) My poem: Slow down. Stop wishing it were summer. Winter be a glorious season the world a sparse beauty. Time for reflection, recuperation, slow replenishment. Do deeply unfashionable things let spare time expand get enough sleep. Rest is a radical act. - Wendy Janzen (Inspired by a prompt from Pádraig Ó Tuama)
I believe in breath, and sunrises, in getting handwritten letters in the mail, in memory and imagination. I believe in the companionship of trees, in crows roosting, in the sound of water flowing over rocks. I believe in spring melt, abundance, colours, texture, silence, and sweetness. In candlelight and darkness. I believe in vastness. In expansive living skies. In dense fog, shadow, and what I cannot see beneath my feet. In gravity. With absolute certainty and absolute uncertainty, I believe in solace and wonder, in poetry, in God. - Wendy Janzen Maybe what we need isn't self-care.
Maybe what we truly need is grounding, connection, and entanglement with all that is. We are not created for independence or self-reliance. Maybe we need to open our being to the gift of life around us, and remember we are not alone. We are light and love from others and for others, our souls nourished by touch, reaching out in need, receiving the goodness of ordinary beauty seeping through the cracks. Celebrate the sun shining on your face, water wetting your lips, gravity hugging you close to the earth, air filling your lungs, honey sweetening your tongue, birds cheering your spirit, nighttime welcoming your rest, friends and family surrounding you, the Divine Presence renewing and enlivening your spirit. -Wendy Janzen Ephemeral Noun: Something that lasts for a very short time. Something ephemeral. Specifically, a plant that grows, flowers, and dies in a few days. Psalm 103:15-17 As for mortals, their days are like grass; they flourish like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting. April Ephemerals My eyes scan the dead brown forest floor, searching for early emerging ephemerals, joyous sentinals of spring. Something about these fleeting flowers calls me back each year to witness their being. I recite their names like a seasonal litany or an annual reunion with old friends: Hepatica Cut-Leaved Toothwort Dutchman's Breeches Trout Lily Bloodroot Virginia Waterleaf Blue Cohosh Rue Anemone Spring Beauty Trillium Thanks be to God! Yes, I see you, and I see myself. Our lives, too, are short. You show us how to live with abandon and to to let our beauty shine, trusting the Eternal One, Beginning and Ending, to provide purpose and grounding, whatever the length of our days. - Wendy Janzen I am a girl made of stars. Of water cycled through creeks and rivers, great lakes, snow, and mud. Of air exchanged with maples and spruce, crocuses and goldenrod. Of soil molecules, microbles, bacteria and trillions of cells; a community. Of sun light and wind, energizing and animating my every move and thought. Companion of family and friends, clouds, cats, crows, and cedars. Receiving and giving renewing and aging. Who are you? - Wendy Janzen Oh! What wonder
that I should be graced to witness a small flock of singing starlings suddenly fall silent, and as if one body lift from the branches. A singularity floating, swooping, soaring to music I cannot hear, but see. An orchestra with wings. A drab grey canvas brought to life with poetic movement. A performance of the ages, with an accidental audience of one star-struck human awed by the glory of it all. Bless you, Starlings, for the exquisite wonder and delight you bring to the world. Bless you for honouring your calling and praising with your bodies. Bless you for showing us the beauty of community and being part of something bigger than ourselves. - Wendy Janzen Look: See how
the morning sun touches this one patch of leaves, just so. Light, bringing colour, illuminating space, drawing my attention to this moment. Now it's shifted, diffused, sun climbs higher, slipping behind clouds. Had I missed this moment, would anything have changed? So many similar fleeting moments, like the squirrel dancing in the supple branches atop a willow or the bumblebee buzzing by on her way to breakfast. This morning, I pay attention, notice the light, the life, the intersection of the universe and my existence here in this moment, in this ordinary place. I find myself in sacred space, and am changed. - Wendy Janzen -Have you ever heard
the evening song of a hermit thrush drifting across a still lake? Their whimsical trills weave and bounce through the treetops and reverberate joy for living this moment. I imagine God must have been so delighted when She heard it the first time that She closed her eyes and whispered: so good! - Wendy Janzen |
AuthorReflections, poetry, prayers, photos, and resources written by Wendy Janzen unless otherwise noted. Archives
April 2025
categories
All
|
RSS Feed