December should be a time of waiting,
of preparing the silence,
of moving to the still point
within . . .

Nature teaches us how
if we listen through the noise
to the quiet.
Snow falls silently white
and makes a blanket of hush
to soften the earth.
Bare branches of maple
silhouette against the pale liquid
of winter sun
so that we may better see
the flash of scarlet bird.

The earth darkens.
It is the time of longest night
and deepest chill,
sometimes bone deep;
it moves us toward the light and warmth
of morning sun
and evening fire.

…

December should be a time of waiting
but I rush and flurry;
December should be a time of stillness
but the lists jangle.
There was no room at the inn;
there is no room within.
The silence of the star calls
urgently.
It is already
December.

Excerpted from the poem, “December” in  “ Breast Cancer: A Soul Journey” by Patricia Greer

Well,
I have this one.

That’s really all I know.
. . . . .
The question intensifies
with illness,
any serious illness.
But it’s there for all of us,
haunting us
from the edges of our lives.
We ignore it
usually.
But sometimes we hear it,
sometimes it gets louder,
demanding attention.

The truth is, though,
we all have only this one day.
For certain.

The question we should be asking,
I think,
is about how we live in it,
this one miracle of a day,
how we live into it,
how deeply,
intentionally,
fully.
That’s the question worth asking of ourselves,
isn’t it?
By Patricia Greer