Month: November 2025

After the Rain

I walk the trail in the aftermath

of a drenching rain.

Young trees laden with water,

thankful for their recent baptism,

bow in reverence.

Their slick leaves and slender branches

emit a happy glow,

as their roots drink deeply

of the glorious flood.

Would that I could be so grateful

for the simple blessing of rain

and bend myself in surrender

To the giver of sun, wind, and water.

But I grow old and stubborn.

Thick of branch.

My trunk rigid and inflexible

in the curious belief

that by standing tall

I grow beyond the need to bow.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Apokatastasis

I sit on the porch recovering

from an illness that left me flat.

Before me are two maple trees

resplendent in their autumn hues:

yellow, copper, gold, and scarlet.

A north wind blows, brisk and gusty.

It shakes the leaves, makes them shiver,

breaks the tenuous grip of dying stems,

sends them twirling, swirling to the ground.

The tree on the right is nearly bare,

while it’s soulmate clings to summer memories.

One thing is sure: eventually,

the last leaves will loosen their hold,

leaving their parents grim and barren.

Earth will grow cold then, and drab.

The view from the porch, bleak, until

the spring, when comes resurrection.

And so I think, this is the way of things.

The last leaf falls, and life begins again.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent