THE PATH THROUGH THE WOOD

[MIRIAM JACOB]

THE PATH THROUGH THE WOOD



That day, I took the other path,

Because they told me it was easy,

Straight through the wood,

Follow the path of the stream

Yes, you have to cross it at one point

But it isn't deep.



I set out, in the loneliness of crowded nature,

Leaving the solitude of empty noise

And hearing soaring majesties of trees

Preaching a sermon.

Past the island where once

I lit a candle for the ones I love

And left its small and flickering prayer

Warm to the wind and the gushing water.



The water and the wind-bitten path

All that was left of it, clinging to the tree roots

Turned sharply upwards on a whim

And left me struggling,

Alone yet wrestling with my God

And thinking life is so like this.



The crossing of the stream

Is no gentle baptism but

Steep banks

And mud that sucks you in, like sin.

The branches overhanging; no canopy of gentle green

But sharp arms of arguing twigs,

Thorns at your throat, threatening your breath.



The wood has come to represent

The bad times we have when

It seemed that happiness just floats by

Fleetingly upon a sea of dreams

And wasn't real, and the only true reality

Is life with its flinty face in the wind and storm.

Hope on a thin thread hauling us on.

God's image on a pale moon

Almost obscured by clouds.



Then suddenly, the gate,

The wooden gate framed by wild roses

And the sign,

The bright white sign lit by the clustered sunbeams,

The stream is singing songs of praise again.

The path an exodus between the drowning trees.



© PAULINE GRIFFITHS