Then Time Is Always Ours

For the past year or so, I have enjoyed a “creative correspondence” with a gifted poet named Scott Eagan.  I was delighted to discover that Scott lives and farms at Madonna House, the ongoing apostolate of one of my heroes, Servant of God Catherine Doherty.  Within the Madonna House community, Scott lives the simplicity and quiet of the Holy Family of Nazareth.  He works the land, he prays and writes.

Scott’s poems reveal the heart of a farmer, one who is close to the land.  In a time when so many of us are somewhat disconnected from nature, Scott’s poems provide an intimate window into the beauty of rural Canada, the changing seasons, farm animals, wild animals, harvests and crops, sun, moon and stars.  My own world is broadened by the images he shares and his interpretations of life and nature.

As the longest, darkest days of winter approach, and as we wait with both patience and impatience for the birth of our Savior, I wanted to share with you one of Scott’s poems:  “Winter Time.”  If we learn to appreciate the gift of each season, the rhythm of life that God has prescribed, then no time is ever fallow, no season wasted. 

And so before we look forward to spring, may we pay winter our respects, and find in her darkest night the Gift that, like nature herself, can never be rushed – the unity between God and human beings.

Thank you, Scott.

 

Winter Time

 

Times change

what once was our summer

warm sun and rains

almost as if God had smiled on

every solid working day

and every blessed night of rest …

then autumn passed

crimson and gold washed away

by cold, grey rains

through gusty winds ofpassage

and we are left with winter.

 

Our axis has tilted

our face turned north of the sun

almost as if His face has frowned

warm rains become white flakes

cold on the cheek, melting

on our summer passed by

washing across our autumn

now clinging to winter time.

 

Know that if we wait

if we may learn to enjoy frost

the cold and the crystal

the days when our face, low

to the sun’s waning light

- yet a loving face nonetheless -

perceiving the distant possibility of spring

and its rising warm smile to return

then time is always ours.

 

Scott Eagan

November 23, 2015

 Claude Monet,  Grainstacks at Sunset, Snow Effect,  1891

Claude Monet, Grainstacks at Sunset, Snow Effect, 1891