There is an after – sightlines for a new normal?

Walking on the edge, I needed a rhythm to ground me this week—a place to explore and make sense of where we are and what is going on. ‘There is an after’ is the hope that fed my soul each day and gives me sightlines for a new normal.

There is an after

There is an after.
After the storm, there is calm.
After the caterpillar, there is the chrysalis. And after the chrysalis the butterfly.
The seed needs to fall to the ground before it can grow and bear fruit.
There is an after.

There is an after –
by the way of courage, not the path of certainty,
requiring more than we think we have.
But courage grows with use
and it’s infectious.
The right kind.

There is an after.
It’s too dark to see the landscape. Yet.
But we can find the shafts of light where the sun comes in.
Just small breaks in the canopy are enough
to give hope,
and find the others.

There is an after.
But it’s not a straight line –
it isn’t a line at all.
Instead, it’s a series of choices made hour by hour, day by day, week by week,
whose path you only glimpse as you turn around and look back.
Like wandering through a meadow before the wind brushes the traces away.
Where will we choose to go?

There is an after
when emptiness is passed, and tears are gone.
And we stand on new ground, hallowed by the sacrifice of many,
unheard, unseen, but now remembered.
Not in tablets of stone, but in souls alive with a new humanity.
Surely, it will come.
And together, we will sing again.

Sue Heatherington, June 2020

Marking the threshold

To step across this threshold, we also need to examine what brought us to this place graciously.

Tracy Ingham has written a beautiful poem for those left behind. She invites us to grieve and sift from the experiences we are going through to find the things of lasting worth.

When the tide recedes

When the tide recedes
and we are left with echoes of what was
Look upon the ripples in the sand
See the salty pools of tears
the broken fragments left by
forty thousand
empty shells
Listen to the voices carried by the wind
angry cries
too little, too late
we never had the chance to say
When the storm has passed
and the hope-filled rainbows have faded
Remember how this moment felt
And mould from this gritty clay
something of lasting worth
Sift the fragments
Find the pearl.

Tracy Ingham Finally shall come the poet…

Go well.

Thanks for reading


This week

Has been a daily exploration of There is an after. I haven’t done this before – it was good to see what emerged each day by committing to a particular rhythm.