A wintry meditation on the voyaging spirit of Marguerite

Marguerite Bourgeoys Sets Out

Did she hesitate at the door, blanch at the shrill whirr of the wind?

Did the fire in the grate, the soft flicker of the candles, draw her to themselves?

What did it take for her to push against the heavy kitchen door and step out to snow and gale and wintry solitude?

What made her stride so firm, her eyes so focused, her determination a buffer against the storm?

The power in this woman draws me like a magnet; I cannot look away.

She lures me from the shelter of false comforts into the maelstrom to set my face into the wind and dare to follow,

as she scatters heartfuls of hope in her wake.