December 9, 2013

The Second Week in Advent

 

Down the street an abandoned building waits for a new owner to bring it to life again.   Dried leaves pile up around a nearby used car, waiting for someone to buy it or haul it away.   Along the brick wall of the building, once the home of a flower shop, a large Angel's Trumpet plant managed to sprout in a crack in the concrete.   I have watched this determined plant over the months, growing and spreading and eventually erupting in a cascade of  huge white and peach colored blossoms, a testimony to summer's beautiful magic and the opportunism of all living things.

 

Now these beautiful blossoms are gone, and what remains is a sprawling brown remnant of a plant, covered with host of spiny pods containing seeds for another year's growth.   Maybe, come spring, a few of them will find their way into the cracks in the pavement  and work their miracle again.   It is an incidental fact that Angel's Trumpets (also known as Datura) once were used as ingredients in love potions, sometimes causing delirious states or even death.    I don't intend to nibble on them as I pass.    But I think that as we get ready once more to hear the Christmas story,  it is not altogether strange that I hear Angel's Trumpets making  a promise.

 

Angels’ Trumpets

Not so long ago

great blossoms hung--

angel's trumpets white as snow--

celebrating a summer's day.

They are gone now,

and the wasted leaves

and dried pods

rattle in a winter wind,

a solemn souvenir

of a glory that was,

and, perhaps, a plan

for what may be again.

I hear a spirit here, whispering:

You cannot always be flower.

There is a fallow season, too,

a long darkness, and cold,

when seeds must hide within you.

Be quiet.  Rest patiently.

There is a goodness in this.

Wait.

 

--Timothy Haut, December 9, 2013