Prayer to the Cottonwood

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
T.S. Eliot from The Waste Land

April was cruel here in the high desert, but so was March and mid-way through May things aren't much improved. War in the Ukraine, fierce winds and now devasting wildfires sweeping across New Mexico. No spring rain here, just high pollen counts and smoke that make my head ache and my eyes weep.

But the lilacs did arrive not long after the forsythia and now the iris are beginning to bloom. Just outside my window the garden brings hope and solace. It has lessons if we pay attention.

Prayer to the Cottonwood

I have secured my scarlet offering.
Now I humbly ask that you share your deep-rooted wisdom.
I do not seek your tree secrets, simply your guidance.
Teach me, please, to—
Find my proper place among all living things
Bear quiet witness to the world around me
Withstand the buffeting of change
Shelter those who need protection
Welcome spring with vibrant energy
Soften heat's harshness with my open arms
Accept that my golden moments will inevitably fade
Endure winter's bareness without complaint
Let my disappointments fall away like broken twigs.

Teach me to be like you.