The pond in the Bishop’s Garden, from a series of paintings at Washington National Cathedral. And a poem.

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If winter is a house then summer is a window

in the bedroom of that house. Sorrow is a river

behind the house and happiness is the name

of a fish who swims downstream. The unborn child

who plays in the fragrant garden is named Mavis:

her red hair is made of future and her sleek feet

are wet with dreams. The cat who naps

in the bedroom has his paws in the sun of summer

and his tail in the moonlight of change. You and I

spend years walking up and down the dusty stairs

of the house. Sometimes we stand in the bedroom

and the cat walks towards us like a message.

Sometimes we pick dandelions from the garden

and watch the white heads blow open

in our hands. We are learning to fish in the river

of sorrow; we are undressing for a swim.

— Faith Shearin