Moon Over False Creek

A good yet challenging weekend in Seattle.  Family time comes with lots of probing questions about my choices of late, without a lot of answers in my back pocket.

Driving home tonight, the words to David Whyte’s poem, “Faith,” run through my head and keep me grounded...

I want to write about faith,
about the way the moon rises
over cold snow, night after night,

faithful even as it fades from fullness,
slowly becoming that last curving and impossible
sliver of light before the final darkness.

But I have no faith myself
I refuse it even the smallest entry.

Let this then, my small poem,
like a new moon, slender and barely open,
be the first prayer that opens me to faith.