v a l l e y
a poem a day in the month of may
There’s been a lot said about the valleys.
They are the low places, the hard places,
the seasons of life we don’t want to re-live.
The valley is where we cry out, we scream
for someone to hear us, to know our pain.
The valley is where we look up and around
for some kind of god and ask for help from them.
Then again, the valley becomes the starting place.
Where things are difficult, we learn to fight.
Where things are painful, we look for remedy.
Where there are questions, we journey.
The valley is somehow both a trap and a womb.
The valley is our darkest fears and guiding light.
The valley is the enigma, and we are travelers,
and somehow, somehow, this is what it is
to be human and to not know the way ahead.
I think valleys sometimes get a bad press -
the lows, the troughs
the vale of tears
the valley of the shadow of death
But what of the hidden valley
the gentle, green slopes
the rippling river
the breeze in the branches
the delicate daisies?
What of the peaceful haven of rest
where I can be still and reflect
take time to think
and be renewed?
The thing
about being
in a valley is that
after you've hit the
bottom you still have
to climb your way back out.