Troubled and burdened, I go to the woods
where the trees are not trying so hard.
Not striving for the light,
simply letting what is in them unfold.
Water in the brook whose flow is merely surrender.
Birds letting go of their songs, songs threading
through woods as far as they go.
Leaves untroubled to be turning the color of death.
A snake growing a skin to shed,
a pod growing a seed to release.
Only gradually do I realize
how content I am to be here.
A nuthatch works a little branch,
finding something tiny here and there,
until she is done, and turns and flies off,
September 26, 2019