Trees stand leafless
in the falling cold.
They do not fret.
They know.
Geese fly over, stopping,
some, to float the pond,
then leave again.
They know.
The little brook flows down,
now strong, now slow,
but flowing down
and down.
You do not need to know
how wisdom works,
or how they understand,
but only what
you, too,
in all your rising darkness,
and in your doubt,
your long unknowing,
know,
a gravity, a drawing in,
a voice inviting,
“Come.”
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
November 9, 2020