Lothlorien

It is said that the leaves of Lorien don’t fall even when it’s winter. The deathless land stands firm even when Jotunheim’s axe cuts others asunder. The green leaves change their gowns to gold on righteous oaks planted from old. As though the leaves balk at the frost and say, “You can touch me, but you will never strike me down.”

Oh, how I wish I changed like Lothlorien and remained beautiful in the snow. Even when the whispering, six-legged neighbors seclude themselves. Even when the rain’s love grows cold. Even when the warm breath of the Father becomes a bite, I wish I could glow and shine like Solomon arrayed in His finest robes. 

The only gold I find is the warmth of the present moment, connecting me to treasures unspeakable. But I often don’t see the value of it. And as a consequence, my leaves fall like trees outside of Eden. They fall because my lack of faith leads to the unsustainable, which gives birth to the unattainable. I remember sunny days when my flowers would emerge in full bloom. I look forward to that time again. But for now, I dream of Lothlorien hoping I can survive the winter.