92 - Av

Last weekend, on a beautiful, sunny, warm but not too hot day, my husband and I spent several hours wandering the paths of the Chicago Botanic Garden. It is an immense place, wonderfully and invisibly tended, the variety of growing things uncountable. What evidence of God’s power of creation! Yet, here, too, were the spent blooms, the bare ground where plants had been removed; in this month of growing things, reminders of life’s fragility. So, the month of Av, summer month of plenty tempered with the sorrow of its ninth day.

Ninety-Two

Av

Fading blossoms give way to green fruits,
As You move us toward hot and growing days,
Ripening us, filling us with longing,
Plump and sturdy fruit attached by fragile stems.

Always, O Eternal One, this full and empty,
Never the chuppah without the broken glass,
Never sweet remembrance without the yahrtzeit,
Summer growing without fear of drought.

Hot and dry, hot and humid, hot and heavy,
Blankets not fully dried from fever dreams;
Yet You uncover the stars in revolving glory,
You suspend the sun’s setting in many hues.

Lush and full, the leaves hide and reveal:
So many shades of green in Your palette
That our eyes cannot gather them,
Until we see the contrast of bare earth.

Remind us and restore us, Eternal our God;
Fill us and empty us of our loves and fears.
Restore our balance and nourish us,
Stretching our souls in the hot air of Av