Beyond the pond

and the wetlands

autumn’s artistry

glows warm in the morning sun,

while

rising from the marsh

long lifeless pines

rise starkly.

Sentinels?

Reminders of the fate

that awaits

even the richest and most beautiful?

Or a kind of bas relief matting

which

by the absence of color

enhances the watercolor it displays.

We cannot look directly

at the sun.

Blinded by the brilliance

of the light

we can only look

where it shines

giving birth to colors

and shadows

cast

like branches of another reality.

Both necessary parts

of a greater whole.

The paradox of the spiritual journey

is the desire to be filled

and to be empty at the same time.

To be at once

dead and alive,

image and shadow,

silent with song.

And perhaps

occasions of God’s silence

or seeming absence

like sentinel and shadow

are proof of God’s existence.

When by paradox

we come to the sanity

of discovering our deepest and truest longings.

Dead and bare.

Alive with beauty.

Both.

And.