An Offering

For LL Barkat's poetry invitation this week: part poem, part essay, part vignette. It's very much confused and only about half what I wanted it to be, but I love it. It's like a baby: not nearly fully grown but beautiful nonetheless.

******************************************

I went searching for grace among sea grass and dunes. Polished glass pebbles called me forward until I could see my face in placid water's stillness. Gulls called, waves ripped, and I waved to sea-turtles swimming by. If only I could come back, I could grasp grace here.

I went searching for grace among pine trees and flowers. Meadows beckoned and I followed twisty path to their heights. Peaceful wind ruffled my hair: a father's hand; great trees surrounded and kept safe: giant arms to encircle and protect. If I could live in this place, I could grip grace here.

I went searching for grace in high alpine places, beyond the trees near the sky. I climbed. Little grasses poked their way through the soil to stand, inch-high and proud. Tiny, tiny flowers showed their faces on impossible-to-pick short stems. If I could reach high enough, I could grab grace here.

I returned home without grace, so almost-but-not-quite that tears crept out when I thought of it. Grace wasn't mine, to grasp, grip, or grab. It taunted me, calling me forward, then elusive; I was left with if-only and long, lonely tears through the night.

Morning came. With it came light-joy, pouring over distant mountains and feeding night-chilled sand beneath my feet. I opened my arms and it fed me, too. Grace here. Grace unexpected. Grace near.