Gate (c) Colleen Briggs 2014
Blue shadows fall
on barren fields
where once we roamed
heart-to-heart.
Now clouds hinge
on sinister skies.
Grass, tattered earth,
flaps like threadbare laundry.
Cold and exposed,
I drift alone.
A weathered fence
guides me,
hand-over-hand.
Nothing tied down,
everything shifts
in ochre waves.
How can I feel trapped
in a place so vast?
Bare black branches taunt me.
They let go of it all,
yet remain rooted.
If only my toes could grow
sink low into earth,
keep digging
and hold me there
against the storm.
I am small here,
where skies swallow
frayed edges,
where fields weep,
afire as clouds press
down on the light.
Somewhere
in all this tossing,
though your hand
slipped from mine,
still there is a rushing,
a crying as it goes
“Come!”
where winds assault no more,
to a place we cannot see,
but know is home.
Mailboxes, (c) Colleen Briggs 2014
Colleen Briggs Art & Writing 
Ahh, yes, Home. So hard to imagine when surrounded by “tattered earth.” Thank you for turning my mind there.
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I am anxious to read your accounts of the tattered earth where you are, and where you see God’s Spirit moving there. Thank you for your faithful encouragement and friendship Bonnie!
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So beautiful! I love: If only my toes could grow
sink low into earth,
keep digging
and hold me there
against the storm.
This was beautifully expressed even through the uncertainty and sadness. Home can sometimes be like this.
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Yes, loving other humans can be such a journey of joy, pain, and uncertainty. But someday it will all end up in the place where it never ends, with the One who is Love – then we will all be home, safe and together. Thank you Teresa.
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