When I planted my cedar
in the garden
it seemed like an odd place –
Why bury her amongst
a plethora of summer flowers
unless I feared she’d disappear?
I was afraid to name her –
Guardian.
When delicate fronds
dulled, turned brown
I despaired.
Weeks passed.
I considered pulling
her up by the roots.
‘Replace her’,
an unpleasant voice nagged.
But another chimed in.
‘Give her time; be patient.
Wait and see.’
I listened to the
Voice of Patience
knowing how much
I needed to learn.
All winter I walked by
brushing ice crystals
from frozen lacy fingers.
When April came
the absence of rain
unraveled the spring.
Feminism and Religion 