Paper Crane [rachel]

In the sanctuary
I’m drawn to the painting with the paper cranes.
They catch my eye every time
Many-colored, ready to take wing.
If only the Maker would breathe...

I sometimes feel like I’m living in a box.
My mind stretches and pushes
Bumping against flat surfaces and corners.
I’m drawn to metaphors,
But the space is so tight
And they need room to move.
I breathe deeply when a paradox breaks through
Puncturing the wall and letting in some light.

The lid opened the other night;
Eternal sunshine did it.
(The strangest things are catalysts.)
I know it’s so because if it weren’t
I’d be thinking about precision.
Think it right.
Say it right.
Do it right.

Then I went for a walk,
found ginkgo leaves outside.
Once home, I got out the canvas, the brushes,
Mixed paint with water.
The leaves started as a pattern,
The shapes and lines so formed,
So neat.
Then something whimsical seized me—
The comical ginkgo became an inspiration.
I splattered the paint,
Let it fall where it will
Enjoying the chaos on canvas.

Where did the box go?
I must have tipped it over
And crawled out the opening
When the fresh cold air hit my face this morning--
The wind was a mighty rushing one.

One of these times
I won’t crawl back into what feels like
Safety.
Protection from the wind.
I’ll open my arms wide
Let the gust blow me over--
Or I’ll take flight
Like the many-colored paper cranes
In the sanctuary
As the Maker breathes.