Presence
I stuck my hands in the dirt –
my fingernails give evidence to my folly.
I bent down,
dug holes,
and implanted hope into the ground
declaring another year will come.
I breathed the air deeply. It cleansed my airway, my lungs, and my mind.
Now it is as if cotton balls have been pulled from my ears
and scales from my I eyes.
The world brightens around me, and I am gifted with the chatter of God’s creation.
I hear the vibrating hum of the wings of this spring’s first hummingbird,
The water ripples of two geese gliding by,
The call of the loon across the lake,
The twitter,
twitter,
twitter,
twitter,
of the unseen.
I ask myself, “Is it this simple?”
“Can it be this simple?”
“Is it this simple?”
Rest in my garden, little one, and you will be renewed.
The Patient Fisherman
The fishermen have come to the lake.
They set their lines oh so patiently
and then seem only to wait.
Are they waiting for fish?
Or are they waiting for You to come by an holler,
“Follow me!”
They do not seem anxious in their waiting,
but instead extraordinarily patient:
Not a muscle twitches.
They keep just a soft finger on the line
ready . . .
Both of these poems were written by me and all rights are reserved. Permission is given to use in a religious or educational setting with attribution. Both pictures are taken in Wolfeboro, NH. The loons by me and the fog on the lake by George Adams. All rights reserved.
Wandering and Wondering 