July : Child on the hillside

July : Child on the hillside

Lit by the sweet Devon sunshine

on a hill overlooking the moor

some sixty something years ago,

the loveliness of leaf and tree,

of petal and flower, of dancing water

and shimmering gorse, opened wide

the eyes of her soul to the divine.

God the Invisible, the Ineffable, 

Creator, Universal Father, source

of all this pure empyrean beauty, 

presented it to a child who wept

perceiving that such transcendent

glory would endure, while she 

like a feather tossed in a stream,

must float away unremembered

into the dark shadows of oblivion.

As fading woodsmoke rises

lazily into a summer evening,

tendrils of incense delicately

embraced the lime white stone

of the sanctuary where the young 

woman knelt, lost in the unfolding 

drama of the eternal filial sacrifice.

‘Jesus, Jesus, ’ she murmured,

the mantra which bound her anew

to two thousand years of love

and dedication to the unloved,

the lonely, the sinner and the saint.

And she smiled as she recalled

the frightened child on the moor,

now made content by the Gospel

of Almighty God becoming Man.

As her life unfolded  the Christ

became her guide, her teacher, 

her confidant, her friend.

In times of great uncertainty,

of disaster and stark despair, 

he pointed her to heaven,

to the Father whom she had first 

met on that long ago sacred day.

When ugly pain engulfed her 

and only the presence of God 

remained in the core of her being,

she perceived that the man Jesus

was the greatest of all men,

but whose resurrection existed 

only in the hearts of those who

were minded to walk with him.

She walks now on that quiet path

in a valley whose name is Content.

The enervating heat of noon is past

and the healing breezes of evening

teal silently out of the shadows.

The child she used to be takes

her hand, and whispers to her that

what there is, is all there is,

and all there is, is gift enough

to be made of, or not, as she wills.

She feels the presence of the past,

the high peaks, the bottomless pits,

loving and loss, sadness and joy,

her young self, and her strong self, 

while a man whose yoke is easy, 

leads her gently into the morning.

                                        Naomi