More than a decade ago, I changed from living a more “interior” life as an artist to an “exterior” one; one where I functioned in a more customary work environment.  My surroundings changed, too.  Instead of the familial comfort of my studio, I entered the bleak suburban landscape of the university.  The drive to and from this place several times a week caused a physical pain for at least a year.  One day during the Lenten season, after driving this route and pulling my car into one of the numberless repetitive spaces, I lowered my head to the steering wheel and cried from self-pity.  I wrote this poem in tribute to the geese.

violet 003Lent

This is the season of abstinence.

Violets, white cotton, dried and crumpled

lay lifeless in a nook, a dark wooden drawer.

Poles and wires crucify the penitent

to the black concrete highway.

Beneath the spinning wheels

I am found.

This is the season of repentance

for sins of shadow play,

reflections against the lost colors

of comfort.

Metal and plastic globes illumine

a landscape littered with

shopping centers and cheap


I am found looking

straight ahead.

Geese rise above macadam and mortar


“I am the resurrection and the life.”

©1997 Tina Hudak


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