Distill
Wake
Someplace I am not,
A red-throated loon glides
Across a glassy lake,
Safe in the wake of her mate
Leaving rippling roads
In the sky of fish below.
In the place where I am,
I use silence as bait—
Waiting
For a single word to arise
Displacing
The still waters of my soul.
How I long to write a poem that leaves
In its wake a gentle grace,
A song lonely as the loon’s cry
Echoing across time and space until
It makes its way to you,
To the place where you are.
I wrote this poem after several attempts at writing a full blog post for this week. Sometimes, words just aren’t enough—especially in the wake of tragedy and death.
It is a strange thing to grieve for people we have never met, and yet I believe this is precisely where the Spirit invites us to be: in both the ache and the healing.
So I offer these words as bread crumbs, not as a solution to pain and loss, but as a presence of peace to accompany us through these waters.
If I was confident of the necessity of any words today, it would be these:
You are loved, you are loved, you are loved beyond measure.
May you go out in joy, and be led forth in peace.
With love,
Katelyn