Bob Warwicker's blog

As light fades outside,

the busy sheep and lambs feed

and we draw inside.

Valley of the sheep:

distant bleating calms the soul,

and a soft warm bed.

The trees outside still,

quietly growing slowly,

stately source of life. 

Lying in a tent,
dozing, hearing trains passing,
connecting the land.

Far sounds, day and night,
people, food, landfill, ballast,
borne on the steel rails.

“I’m going fishing”,
as if nothing happened – but
everything’s changed.

The grey-on-grey sky,
the cold like winter again;
normal for the spring.

Sunday’s Lectionary starts with the conversion of Saul/Paul. The one who breathed fire and brimstone against Jesus now loves him with that same passion.

Same, but utterly different – we come to God as we are, and God can redirect the actual us to live different lives.

Anchored to the earth,
a tent, place of refuge, full
of sounds of the world.

Once seen from a train,
the toilet factory is
here, solid, vital.

Colours of fashion,
avocado settling ponds,
flashed past the window.

6am. I stand
in dewy fields, watching trains
between far cities.