I ask for patience to befriend time,
to give space to my labours of love,
not to rush or stunt their growth,
to cherish the transition from seed
to blossom, to know
that building anything of value
demands enduring devotion.
Nature abounds with works of art
from sweet cherry trees to sandalwood,
each taking years to yield its fruit and scent.
Yet, I have caught myself
courting the hubris of busyness,
rushing the harvest.
Then life has a way of slowing me down,
interrupting the sprint
between my doing and my doing.
I ask for patience
to embrace such moments,
to view each delay as an opportunity
for rest, for play, for unity,
to finish what I started,
to start what I intended,
to quiet my mind without feeling as though
I am falling behind,
to sink into a liminal space
and discover what lies on either side
of the threshold,
to mandate self-care,
and with my bidding, be bold.
I ask for patience
to create in harmony with my seasons:
roll into my winter and see my world
stripped down to timber,
disentangle my roots,
watch them grow deeper
till my summer, when my spirit
in full bloom, bears a display
of all that I have cultivated
in my cold,
bare,
quiet season.
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