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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I kneel to pray beneath an oak tree’s leaves, where my journey began. Broken limbs straggle over a patchy lawn, a neglected place full of holes, shoveled from childhood memories. I bow at the altar of the tall oak. Days come and go, but yesterdays are no longer my foundation. The oak’s trunk encompasses a sturdiness and truth I desire. Its roots are my roots. Its branches are my faith, my full embrace. I am left vulnerable in this season. Blackbirds, descending from dark skies perch on barest branches, cawing in a famished frenzy. Come winter, their desperate souls will escape the chilled air. A prayer comes in muffled thoughts cried until lived out, until answered. God tells me I am more than these thoughts. I’ll wait to bare my soul like the Oak in winter for I feel dull under autumn’s bright coat. Lord, will you find me lying still, silent below the flight of swirling leaves? Am I drowned out by the blackbirds’ caws? With the birth of a child, hope is reborn. Every step leads me back home. So, I carry my babes to the oak. Through the seasons, it cradles their innocence. The bough rises higher than the pine trees donned in deceitful evergreen. Nothing lasts except a child’s dreams. The tall oak feels like a new beginning tonight; I peel off my layer of fright, peel spirit from bone. With my eldest son knelt at my side, prayers are lifted within the song of autumn (Lord, grant me peace and broad wings for my flight) then after the glow of evening sun has fallen, I hope our prayers are an offering of love, two voices heard, weightier together. I feel illuminated under night skies, as starlight sprinkles wonder. I pray to remain vulnerable so I can accept the gift of love. I pray God chisels away the bitterness of days gone by. I want to forgive, fill in the holes before I die. When my son and I pray, we pray for peace, for family, for the acorns that grow into mighty oak trees. Sometimes I forget to notice subtle differences between the weeping and whispering of whirling leaves. Sometimes I forget the difference between a want and a need. My child sincerely prays for his dad, brother and me; he prays for his friend to sleep with sweet dreams, and for the blackbirds at our feet, scavenging through autumn’s dead weeds. Then, with twinkling eyes, he asks me for a loaf of bread.
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