The Opening

The Opening

After delayed and re-routed flights,

after seat-kicking children and an endless

airport shuttle ride that jostled my bones

and every organ inside to jelly, I stand still

on the road in spring sun, my awareness

barely skimming the surface of snowmelt

flowing through the culvert, light turning

cattails the amber-gold of clover honey—

just letting it all in—when he touches my arm

as if to say, Wait, and then we hear the first

redwing blackbird of the season, followed

by its chip-chip sound of flint striking sparks.

I close my eyes and refuse to move from

the refuge of warmth that surrounds us,

the door of some hidden wood stove

left open in the changing air.


There are so many ways to take refuge in our reality, to unearth the extraordinary in the everyday soil of our lives. We all go searching at one time or another for heaven over there—in a new place, new partner, new job, or on the heels of some glittering accomplishment we’ve been chasing for years. Yet we often arrive only to find the soil, our base, remains the same, waiting to be tended. It’s then that we see, we find heaven right where we are, in every patch of earth we are blessed to work and rest in. Over and over again, I forget this and must be brought back by the bare moment when everything falls away except for what is as close as my own breath. Not a marker of success or some award, but the simple reward of standing still on a dirt road with my husband after a long day of travel, letting the stronger spring sun warm our weary bones beside the wetland. What brought me back was the unmistakable call of a redwing blackbird, perched somewhere among the tamaracks all around us. It was the slow closing of my eyes, chills climbing my spine as I stopped to receive this sliver of heaven on a walk we take nearly every day. The redwing called again, this time in a series of chip-chips, which sounded to me like flint striking sparks. As wind blew down from the mountain and across our willing faces, it felt like the door to a hidden wood stove had been left open in the air, like we had slipped into some warmer portal where these few instants were lengthening to an eternity inside each of us. As if what we needed, what we craved, had always been waiting here in the ordinary air.


Invitation for Writing & Reflection: Describe some timeless, eternal moment you recently encountered. How do you carry that moment with you as a place of refuge in both heart and mind?

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Dear friends, if you get a chance, please give a listen to this wonderful interview with Sarah Cavanaugh for the Peaceful Exit podcast. Though the interview focuses on loss and my book, Turning Toward Grief, there was also so much beauty and joy woven with this conversation as well.

S6 EP 11 - Turning Towards Grief

Photo credit: Photo by Axel Josefsson on Unsplash