How foolish to think me separate from life
when I know the painter
who painted us both.
How foolish to watch as rain falls,
a momentary inconvenience, but
fueling the ground, the flowers, the rivers and lakes.
How foolish to trudge through snow and iceslippery
and cold underfoot- and
forget that spring will always come
with blooming flowers -
that the ground remains
the same.
How foolish to complain when the sun leaves
sooner and sooner,
when it is replaced by the moon and stars,
ever changing and rotating that the earth
just might get a new perspective.
How foolish to think me separate from all this life -
to forget
that when rain falls
or snow appears
or night surrounds me,
that it means I’m livingthat
it simply means the seasons have changed.
How foolish to think me separate from life
when I know the painter
who painted us both.
How foolish to watch as rain falls,
a momentary inconvenience, but
fueling the ground, the flowers, the rivers and lakes.
How foolish to trudge through snow and iceslippery
and cold underfoot- and
forget that spring will always come
with blooming flowers -
that the ground remains
the same.
How foolish to complain when the sun leaves
sooner and sooner,
when it is replaced by the moon and stars,
ever changing and rotating that the earth
just might get a new perspective.
How foolish to think me separate from all this life -
to forget
that when rain falls
or snow appears
or night surrounds me,
that it means I’m livingthat
it simply means the seasons have changed.
I come from Wisconsin, where winters are cold and covered in snow that’s pretty for a day and then turns to muddy mush. I remember thinking that it must be a miracle that grass ever survives a winter of being suffocated by snow. I was reminded of the cycles of nature- how seasons only last so long before giving way to the next. The leaves know when to change. The birds know when to fly south for the winter. I thought of how little grace we give ourselves when going through hard times and how that goes directly against the cycles of nature that were put in place by the same creator. This poem is intended to remind me and anyone who reads it that there is no aspect of nature that is ever wholly perfect. Day falls to night. Summer turns to Fall and Winter. Everything has its place no matter how bleak it looks in the moment.
Emily Axtman is a senior from Wisconsin studying Professional Writing. She writes to provide perspective and to thank the people who have impacted her most. Her process starts with ideas in her notes app, and if she’s lucky they’ll find their way into a finished piece. Her writing is centered around a theme of human experiences and her own faith.
Emily Axtman is a senior from Wisconsin studying Professional Writing. She writes to provide perspective and to thank the people who have impacted her most. Her process starts with ideas in her notes app, and if she’s lucky they’ll find their way into a finished piece. Her writing is centered around a theme of human experiences and her own faith.
Emily Axtman is a senior from Wisconsin studying Professional Writing. She writes to provide perspective and to thank the people who have impacted her most. Her process starts with ideas in her notes app, and if she’s lucky they’ll find their way into a finished piece. Her writing is centered around a theme of human experiences and her own faith.
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