Sunday Musings – March 1, 2020
To what shall I attend?
To what shall I attend as Spring approaches?
Political mud slinging?
The cries of the planet?
The coronavirus?
The decline in the stock market?
The cries of the forgotten and discarded?
The prophecy of the least of them?
The song of the early spring birds?
The call of those who prepare to once again crucify Christ?
Christ who is mirrored in those:
who bear witness to the insanity of more, more, more
who bear witness to the injustice of health care
who proudly display their prison tattoos
who gaily decorate their temporary shelters in our elegant neighborhoods
perhaps blocking those need to shop for more stuff less they
have their eyes pried open?
To what shall I attend?
The easy smile of a child?
The invitation to skip?
The tenacity of the spring flowers which dare to defy our best efforts
to withhold nutrients?
To what shall I attend?
The rock rolled away from the tomb?
The stone dropped from the hand poised to throw as if?
To what shall I attend?
The gentle kiss of the breeze?
The friendly fist bump of my nameless gym companion?
To what shall I attend as I refuse the darkness of spirit?
To what shall I attend?
Written March 1, 2020
Jimmy F Pickett
Coachpickett.org
To what shall I attend?
To what shall I attend as Spring approaches?
Political mud slinging?
The cries of the planet?
The coronavirus?
The decline in the stock market?
The cries of the forgotten and discarded?
The prophecy of the least of them?
The song of the early spring birds?
The call of those who prepare to once again crucify Christ?
Christ who is mirrored in those:
who bear witness to the insanity of more, more, more
who bear witness to the injustice of health care
who proudly display their prison tattoos
who gaily decorate their temporary shelters in our elegant neighborhoods
perhaps blocking those need to shop for more stuff less they
have their eyes pried open?
To what shall I attend?
The easy smile of a child?
The invitation to skip?
The tenacity of the spring flowers which dare to defy our best efforts
to withhold nutrients?
To what shall I attend?
The rock rolled away from the tomb?
The stone dropped from the hand poised to throw as if?
To what shall I attend?
The gentle kiss of the breeze?
The friendly fist bump of my nameless gym companion?
To what shall I attend as I refuse the darkness of spirit?
To what shall I attend?
Written March 1, 2020
Jimmy F Pickett
Coachpickett.org
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