Lodged

I love Robert Frost -I've always had a weird complex with jumping on Fan Trains.  This is why I didn't read Harry Potter until everyone else had quit and why I don't do chevron anything.
If it has a fan following, something inside of me strongly resists.
There have been a few exceptions, and Robert Frost is one of those exceptions.  I'm a Frost Fan.

His poetry keeps me on my toes.  I read through them and find a surface message, but I return and dig deep and find a deeper message.
As I read, "Lodged," I smiled.
It is depressing on the surface, conjuring up images of beaten little flowers -victims to the unrelenting nature of nature.

But it isn't depressing.  It is empowering.

A garden bed brings up two pictures in my mind: a plot of fertile dirt, waiting for rain to bring forth fruit.
And a bed/bed... as in the kind of bed I kneel beside, just as the flowers knelt.

I lay lodged, though not dead.
Ah, that beautiful storm that bring me to my knees, it FEEL lodged in those moments.

But I know that when the rain and wind move on, I shake and straighten... my blossom glows brighter, my stem stronger.  Those around me grow as a result of my storm.

Praises be to the storm.
May you kneel during the push and pelt, for glory and grace are waiting.