The walk

The walk

Dear Mountain Bear,

Thank you for going on the walk I did not do.

You have taken the shoes from under me,

and given them room to breathe the air of night,

while a cryptic owl swooped his silent flight

in search of the very thing I did my best to put away.

The hunt for fresher life, fertile and festive,

in the company of small mammals in plain sight,

in the company of trees in leaf,

earthworms and earthlings,

in the garden of the Big Bang.

It suited me to stay indoors,

and not to cry too much in the face of the messenger outside,

to celebrate a brave warrior‘s walk

into the cradle of my infancy,

into the face of my fears,

into the promise of my fertility.

How does an Unbeliever pray?

Not on my knees with head all bound in thorns,
not in a pew prostrate before a god,
not stooped, nor bent, a sinner supplicant,
a poor unworthy man afraid to say:
Like as the eagle soars astride the wind,
like as the river flows from spring to sea,
like as erratic stands upright and firm,
a worthy creature proud to stride the land.

No more a child beset with guilt and shame,
but grown attentive to the joy of light,
humble as dust and underwhelmed by night,
a star that shines and whispers love to all.

We move in prayer, our talent in our verse,
we celebrate in time the universe.