Author Ruth Smith Meyer

This is something I wrote about a year ago, soon after Paul's death.  I share it with you now.

This morning the world was shrouded in a dense fog. The snow and frigid temperatures that heralded the coming of March gave the impression of pulling the blanket up around its ears trying to ignore the warmer climate that was about to bring the demise of winter.

An hour or so later, when I drove out of the garage, the atmosphere was transformed once more. The sun shone in a blue, blue sky. Against that azure back-drop, each branch, to the smallest twig was clothed in crystal white creating a fairyland of ethereal beauty. I wished I had started a half hour early and brought my camera to capture the magnificent splendor, for by the time church had hardly more than started the breath-taking splendor was gone.

Right now, at this period in my life, when I am finding my way to a new kind of life, because of the new reality of a second time of widowhood, I often feel as literally in the fog as the world was this morning. I remembered a poem I wrote when my first husband died.

Return, Oh Spring!

Song of my heart after Norman’s death.

The morning dawns,

my consciousness aroused, realizes its arrival

is cloudy, damp and cold.

My eyelids open slowly;

I pull the covers ‘round.

It seems the clime

has my heart

firmly in its hold.

Bleak February days

find echo in my heart.

-Where are the sunshine,

warmth and loving grace,

the shape and meaning,

hopes and dreams,

the touch,

the feel,

and sight

of my dear one’s face?

Oh come,

warmth and touch

of Eternal Spring,

melt grief’s ice and snow,

disperse winter’s chill,

and in the warming trickle

of the certain thaw,

soak the earth of promise

that lies beneath it still;

awaken slumbering seeds

and initiate new growth

of love and life,

in altered and innovative cast.

Emerging from the earth,

facing toward the sun,

may hopes

and dreams

return to me at last.

Six years later I added a few verses when Paul came into my life.

‘Twas my earnest prayer

that February morn

when Spring seemed

loathe to come.

But slowly my heart

to resignation did succumb

to reality—life so different,

life alone,

to face the great unknown.

But life so new

and foreign now

still seemed the weight of stone.

Then blew Eternal Spring

And moved your heart to call

To melt my sadness,

Dispel my grief’s dark pall.

And in the warming stream

of your amazing love,

you soaked the arid places

that I’d been conscious of;

awakened slumbering seeds

and initiated new growth

of love and life,

in altered and innovative cast.

And I emerged from earth,

My face glowed in the sun,

New hopes arose,

Dreams came true,

My heart felt at home again--

at home in your love,

at home at last.

Now I face another time of grief. Although there are moments when I’d like to draw those blankets up around my ears, this morning’s magic, makes me realize that even dense fogs can be the instrument to bring about enchanting beauty. And as a writer, I want to have paper and pen or computer ready to record the unexpected brief revelations of fulfillment and loveliness that surprise me as I walk this way, for I do not walk alone.