The Harried Mystic

Gentle immensities:  bark-worn, branch- torn,  grey-green friars,
tell me in whispers to what one aspires.

No fear, nor pretense, without want or bold opinion,
the maple giants speak of Knowing and Dominion.

” But humble moments –  fleeting filaments of time and space,
we reach for the Sun, our eternal face.

The All runs in our veins as we move unmoved, through storms, and cuts, falls and cold,
Knowing that the end is but the beginning, and the new rests on the old.”

Wisdom rises in simple Presence that calls on me to know,
that only Angels see tomorrows and which way the winds will blow.

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