where the writers are

The sun's warmth has finally chased away

 the cold white blanket

of winter,

the moist earth sodden from rain and snow,

as greenstalks reach higher into the sky each day,

warmed by the sun

hoping they will complete their journey

to fruition.

and as the cold melts away the sadness of winter,

the isolation of being cooped up inside,

the landscape grey and barren,

waiting so long to breathe again

Aprils freshness,

And,hoping against hope

I took my car to the wash today

and it looks like new

sparkling windows,shiny silver paint

daring that sky to rain down more white chill

while looking ahead to buds bursting forth

as God paints the world once again

with His paintbrush.

And I am ready to cast aside

the hole that still resides in my heart

By finding out why

it still persists

And wondering if by trying new ways

of responding to warmth

without letting the weeds choke me

as they always have before,

but rather,

be open,

to the light

Letting the sun do its work

not rushing it along with articial plant food

nor giving in to the wildfire of weeds,

that threaten to overtake it,

and I will keep reaching

for the light

and invite you to reach for it with me.