What starts is never what arrives

by March 9, 2017 0 comments

The wooden door swings open
hopeful feet travel the long road
stepping on stones from here to there
traversing the serpentine path from home to hinterland
dusty shoes, tattered coats
hats soggy from sleet, from dew
bellies hungry for bread, meat, comfort
open fields, lonely mountaintops
biting brambles, wind-blown wildflowers
beneficent bees, boisterous birds
massive oaks, thorny roses
swollen rivers, unfathomable lakes
wind and rain; snow and sun
we begin the journey as pilgrims
end the journey as refugees
longing for where we started
uncertain of where we have arrived
our skin tougher, more wrinkled
our hearts opened, yet weary
our hopes and dreams forever altered by
the weather, the whims of chance
the kindness and cruelty of strangers
the losses and joy, laughter and tears
gathered or spilled along the way

– Mary Saracino

editors note:

Pilgrim to refugee; may we gather more than we spill. – mh clay

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