As the sun embraces the barren land,
the Gardener chips the cracking shell.
Sifting past chunks of rocky regrets,
He plucks weeds of worry and want,
savoring the aroma of new earth.
He rakes fingers through crumbling clay,
molding and smoothing, securing His seed
deep into the heart.
His vat overflows.
Shimmering streams of sun-speckled water,
soften, nourish, restore the soil.
Revitalizing rains coax forth buds.
Clinging vines sprout.
Beloved branches weather the winds,
bending steady and sure,
bearing purple marbles,
sweetened by truth and
grown to serve the guests seated at His table.
Time paints splashes of mustard,
amber and crimson dreams.
The Gardener weeps,
docking scars of impurities that hinder
new branches from birthing an abundance of fruit.
He clips. He cuts. He carves.
He sculpts through the calloused concerns
and twisted knots of neglect,
knowing freshly pruned branches
rely on the Root
He rejoices as they stand firm
through the storms, saturated by His Spring,
breathing life after death
and always reaching for the sun.
2012 Life Psalms Collection by X. E. Dixon
Photo by X. E. Dixon