1 Corinthians 15:21-28 For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he delivers the kingdom to God the Father after destroying every rule and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. For “God has put all things in subjection under his feet.” But when it says, “all things are put in subjection,” it is plain that he is excepted who put all things in subjection under him. When all things are subjected to him, then the Son himself will also be subjected to him who put all things in subjection under him, that God may be all in all.
Retro Haiku 3-3-3
Eugi's Weekly Prompt – Bouquet – September 16
Cee's Flower of the Day
For Cee's FOTD, August 22, 2021: See the beautiful pink hibiscus on her site!
Flower of the Day Challenge (FOTD).
"Please feel free to post every day or when you you feel like it.
Don’t forget that my FOTD challenge accepts gardens, leaves and berries as well as flowers."
Common-Place or “Locus Communis” — a place to remember
John Updike (1932-2009) still casts a long shadow on the literary landscape. His writings were varied and many, but his craftsmanship set the standard among his contemporaries. He was only one of four writers who won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction more than once.
Born in Reading, Pennsylvania, he once described his subject as “the American small town, Protestant middle-class” everyman. His clarity of style and expression is the hallmark of his writing, causing a critic for The Guardian to warn, “The clarity of Updike’s poetry should not obscure its class.”
The following poem quickly became one of my favorites for its simple directness and descriptive force in conveying the grace available in the simple act of “Planting Trees.” The poem is from his fifth collection of poetry, Facing Nature.
Planting Trees John Updike
Our last connection with the mythic. My mother remembers the day as a girl she jumped across a little spruce that now overtops the sandstone house where still she lives; her face delights at the thought of her years translated into wood so tall, into so mighty a peer of the birds and the wind.
Too, the old farmer still stout of step treads through the orchard he has outlasted but for some hollow-trunked much-lopped apples and Bartlett pears. The dogwood planted to mark my birth flowers each April, a soundless explosion. We tell its story time after time: the drizzling day, the fragile sapling that had to be staked.
At the back of our acre here, my wife and I, freshly moved in, freshly together, transplanted two hemlocks that guarded our door gloomily, green gnomes a meter high. One died, gray as sagebrush next spring. The other lives on and some day will dominate this view no longer mine, its great lazy feathery hemlock limbs down-drooping, its tent-shaped caverns resinous and deep. Then may I return, an old man, a trespasser, and remember and marvel to see our small deed, that hurried day, so amplified, like a story through layers of air told over and over, spreading.
For Cee’s FOTD challenge, an unexpected summer rain had me scurrying under this young maple tree and wondering, Where do trees go to hide from storms? Or is the canopy of the sky providence enough, frowning though it may be? From it God waters thirsty roots and showers drops of light to hang on parched leaves, and oh, how they glisten and shake with joy in the breeze!