The thaw came in January
and on that singular day when it was green,
and the world flooded blue,
they had made a boat, a wooden one, nailed precisely,
with a dishtowel for a mast.
It was windy; they were hopeful.
They had launched it from the shore of the spontaneous
lake in Martin’s hay field cross the way and I’d watch them string
it out, watch them cheer as it floated out on alfalfa’s watery waves, watched
them scramble to pull in the line when she tipped, but her maiden voyage
turned out to be her last and she sank and they gave her up,
tromped back cross the road leaving that string and dreams
waving farewell across the water.
During the night the world turned white.
Winter had found her coat and
With their mouths full of porridge, they talked of raising ship from that aquatic grave, and some thought it couldn’t be done, mast frozen in ice
but Farmer Father said anything could be done, or nearly anything,
if you really set your mind to it.
So they hatched another idea
and hauled out another boat.
When they embarked, I came too,
thought of the new year launching
and how some plans will set out and fail and sink and
recovery plans will have to be made
but that’s just part of the going, so we’ll go on.
We’ll just wade out into it as it comes,
Persevering, breaking ice, pushing onward, goal in sight
because if we set our minds to it, and our backs to the wind….
and we’ll remain determined, faithful, regardless, because
the going onward is the mattering part
Sure, things will get tipsy — hope is risky and transformation, wild —
True, we’ll almost lose it, but
we’ll use what we have, shovel for oar,weakness for God-strength,
and we’ll fill the skies with laughter and faith and we’ll steady her out,
get back on course.
We’ll get a line on that prize, and hang on tight and haul her in for all
we’re worth
and this crazy idea that looked rather impossible,
a paddle in a hay pond
a new you in a new year,
will be an escapade of
walking on water
so launch! and recover! and launch again!
and walk on
to the other side.
Related: part of a series on time and the new year
Photos: a new year launch and recovery
Friday is for Random Acts of poetry… see High Callings for more random acts
