Any home gardener knows that an unseasonable warm snap in January will wreak havoc on perennials and spring bulbs. So, I put "Mulch the Beds" on my To Do list and drove to the dump, the best source of fresh mulch in our area. It's also, in mid January, a green-and-brown monument to the Christmas just past. I am not Catholic, nor was my grandmother, although she always insisted that she once saw the Virgin Mary appear at the foot of her bed. So, I must have a special spiritual eye for glimpses of ...
Well, here is a poem I wrote when I returned home after a remarkable, grace-filled moment in that vast dump site.
Snowdrops, daffodils and crocuses
Need protection from
January warmth that betrays
A bitter cold to come.
Day after warm day, the sun seduces their
Green tendrils to grow taller.
A trip to the dump for mulch to blanket
These naïve thrivers reaps a surprise.
Christmas trees that recently displayed the
Joyous lights celebrating the Nativity
Now are piled like matchsticks awaiting the grinder.
They have no memory of the joy they pretended
Nor the innocence they invoked.
A bright color imbedded in crushed branches lured me to one tree.
Tucked amidst still-fragrant boughs-
Green paper cone scotch-taped for body,
Red rough-cut wings,
White circle for a face-
A handcrafted angel.
And deeper I peered, the crayon words:
Angle Mary protekt us from guns.
A child's prayer discarded with this tree.
Maybe by mistake?
Snagged in the branches as they went.
Now, an Angel in the Dump,
A plea for all the innocents
Whom we discard from our memories,
From our prayers
I replaced the boughs around her.
_Tucked her in.
Echoed the prayer:
Protekt us all from guns._