How long shall I live?

How long shall I live? I asked.
The brook flowed silently beneath me.

Will my children be well?
The bird sang and sang.

The sun came up low through the trees
as if reaching up for something.

A nuthatch, head downward,
worked a hickory trunk,

considering the bark with care,
one little peck at a time.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light

March 30, 2020

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