Patience is a personal focus, right now.
And poet friend Bob Moore speaks right to my soul with this reminder about the wisdom of our tree sisters and brothers.
They seem to know how to leave generous room for mystery to come in quietly and fill the spaces.
by Bob Moore
The trees stood still. They knew enough to wait.
They knew that every season wasn’t great
for blooming, so they slowed down, and they dreamed
of what the light would feel like when it streamed
for hours in the warmth of a summer day.
When asked if they felt cold, they wouldn’t say.
But given the chance, they wore a coat of snow,
and waited for the length of days to grow.
They watched the squirrels and chipmunks fetch their meals,
but never spoke a word of how it feels
to while away the time and not complain,
or worry if the forest would sustain
their young, or fret about the need for room.
Instead, they held out for a chance to bloom.