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
www.unfoldinglight.net
March 30, 2020