First Sunday in Advent
November  29,  2009

 

I went to the desk

to get a pen.

Before going back to

my chair,

I looked out the window,

to the park across the street.

In the breaking light

I could see that most of the

leaves had fallen from the trees.

I thought that this might

be the last chance

I ‘d get to see the park

holding on to Fall.

This thought stayed with me

as I walked through the park

later that day.

I looked at everything

as though it might be

the last time I’d see it.

Usually,

I’d say “good morning”

to an old man with a cane

coming up the path toward

the  Capitol building.

Today I asked his name.

“John,” he said.

I listened carefully to a bus hiss its

way to a stop at the red light.

Hiss.

Once home, I started a

spaghetti sauce I knew

would have made my father proud.

I called a friend

and thanked him for saying

something to me ten years ago that

changed my life.

He was not aware of what he said.

I quoted him.

It wasn’t only the fallen leaves

in the park that started me thinking this way;

it was the gospel, too,

about the fiery stars tearing loose

from their settings in the sky

and the waves raging

against the shores along

the eastern coast.

I’m glad I thought this way,

no moment passed alone.