Love Stays
A howling wind has stripped us clean
of leaves that once concealed every nest
of feeling—the fear, the anger, each
small bud of hope. Now, bare limbs
clatter against each other this December,
not knowing what to do with this new
exposure, not knowing where to turn.
Yet if we look closer at each tightly
woven bed of twigs no longer hidden
from the world, we find a softer home
inside ourselves where love has come
to stay. No storm of words or shock
of snow can ever send this love away,
which overwinters in us, huddled
beneath feathers that were made
to keep out the cold.
Hard as it is to trust at times, love is what endures. Far more powerful than hate, disappointment, or despair, love stays with us like those birds—the chickadees, finches, juncos and others—who linger through the bitter months of winter, seeking sustenance wherever they can. The holidays are a time of communion and celebration, but for many of us, they also carry the edge of sorrow, as we remember the ones we have lost, and reflect on the fears we may feel for the direction in which our world is heading. When so much cheer seems to fill the air, it can feel isolating and vulnerable to turn toward our grief. Yet as Kahlil Gibran has written: “Joy and sorrow are inseparable . . . together they come and when one sits alone with you . . . remember that the other is asleep on your bed.” The same is true of love, too. When worry or despair descends, love is still present, helping us to stay as resilient as those winter birds, whose feathers are made to keep out the cold, and hold in every ounce of warmth they can find.
Invitation for Writing & Reflection: As you consider the love that stays with you, what images come to mind? In this “stick season,” as we often call winter here in Vermont, what “nests of feeling” are being revealed, and how might you weave these with moments of wonder and joy you encounter as well?
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Beautiful, James. The first thing that came to mind was “bare ruined choirs”. The birds still sing.
So very lyrical. I shivered reading it. And again, re-reading it.