Waning poetic

For those of you that read yesterday's blog post and, even remotely, entered into the ideal with me as I planned to linger one last time over the hydrangea that were wilting due to lack of rain, well, the poetry of it all trumped reality once again. I got home from work to find that the killing frost had more to do with the state of the hydrangea than the lack of water. It rained practically all day yesterday and I saw no visible difference in their state as a result of it. I did linger over them like I said I would, but it was much less satisfying than I had envisioned it to be.

I know they still speak of the death, burial, and resurrection of their Creator as they progress through Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer. I know that I need to rejoice in a God that could build Himself into a plant so completely that it reflects His Gospel 24/7/365.25, but sometimes I get so caught up in the poetry of it all. I get lost in my words, and so much so that I forget that words are, among other things, my attempt to compartmentalize and communicate my experience. And they are a mere attempt at that.


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