№3
Jan 9, 2023
In the dark hours of the morning
a light dusting peppers the yard
seasoning the garden still in its winter clothes.
Young hares dart in the moments between seconds,
I am in those moments accepting the reality of what goes on
without me.
What is unseen, the mystery of God prevails,
the pigment in newborn flower petals.
The work of his left hand and also the right
on the machinations of the heart.
