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Waves higher than seen before . . .
boats zigzagging across the lake looking
for snug harbors,
water and sky ink black
Two swans, just fed
(this time I remembered to bring bread)
turned to face the unexpected storm
Close to each other, but not side by side . . .
no loud swan talk, quiet gliding the norm
To those watching, the storm did not seem
to dilute their joy
No dark attached to their activity
Sitting tall, faces straight ahead,
peace radiating
They did not turn away from the gale
There was no visible change, indicating
disappointment with the day
May I tread events quietly, peacefully, serenely
May I remember to face our Father, and not
look over the shoulder for nothingness
It is in facing God that we see and feel His Allness,
feather light, buoyant, snug.
