In Waiting...

the whole world
is in a hurry
wanting,
waiting,
to get somewhere,
to get something,
and fast.

but waiting
must happen
unhurried,
like losing yourself
in the mist
which will roll out
just like it rolled in,
in its own time.

like the pine cones
are set free
with the fall leaves,
upon the cool breeze
of an ominous winter,
waiting
is a ripening of desire
beyond your need
to bite into the fruit;

yes, you have worked hard,
survived many winters,
stood up strong
through many a fall,
the winds of change
have constantly eroded
your sense of self;

but waiting is not
about wallowing
in the frustration
of no harvests,
it is about finding
and loving
the hidden harvest
in the most treacherous
winter or drought;
garnering a patience
that is grounded
in the stillness of uncertainty,
and the stark reality
of discontent.

in waiting, there is
a slow and beautiful
coming together
of all seasons -
born from
a deep friendship
with the silence
and impeccable stillness
of an inner winter
and drought.