Tuesday, March 06, 2007


The hills are brushed with green,
not spring, but the promise of spring
as grace is not God, but God’s promise.
Like streaks of gold in the eastern sky
before dawn. Like the murmur of surf
at ebb, before the turn, the return
of water to the land—like the echo
of thunder over the desert, awakening
buried seeds. The promise of rain.
The buried seeds of hope. A touch
of grace.


Preethi said...

lovely... i love the spring.. and it is a promise indeed... a promise of new life...great interpretation

Keith's Ramblings said...

That's just beautiful. A really lovely take on the promise

Tumblewords: said...

I think I've run out of wow words for your work...guess I'll just start leaving a smile. :)

Rob Kistner said...

Just lovely... a true breath of spring!