The temperature dropped
The winds began to blow stronger
Taking every last leaf off the tree.
We raked them up in piles
Only to be blown again across the yard
And down the street.
They found their way into gathered pockets
And corners on the curbs of Taylor Boulevard.
I used to think of winter as the end of the year.
The leaves fall, the flowers hibernate,
And the first frost arrives.
Now I know it’s the beginning.
The making of all things new begins underground,
Hidden in the depths for a season.
Nurtured, strengthened, stretching roots out in all directions.
Our eyes won’t see new life until the first buds appear,
But the making begins long before.
Before our eyes can see,
Before our ears can hear,
He’s making all things new.