Photo by Spencer DeMera
When I’m searching for trust
in the transience of everything,
it comforts me to
walk the green living hills
in meditation, listen to the creek
chanting mantras
to the rhythm of spring.
I shut my eyes for a few paces
climbing upward,
ears open wide
to a choir of hawks and sparrows,
hymn of rainwater
flowing down fissures
carved into the forgiving earth.
Concerns pass through my mind
like rosary beads
slipping through fingers.
Come summer,
the creek will grow silent,
the luscious green turn
tawny and brown.
What choice do we have
but to hold what we love close
for the time it is with us,
then open our hands
to let what we have cared for
take wing?
—Previously published in Live Encounters (2024)