It may be that we all see things differently,
though whatever happens to one of us,
surely happens to us all.
Even though the crows once snatched
some new eggs from a robbin’s nest,
the other birds kept praising.
What else can we do amidst the shifting light
of this incomprehensible mystery but pause
awhile and raise our voices to heaven?
Generation after generation of small winged creatures
come and go, sweethearts every one, all perfect shards
of the turning light, all proof of its undying majesty.
Every night we can look up and remember that we all
descended from the stars, even as we stand in the shine
of our own magical light, pondering what will come next.
We may be surrounded by throngs of galaxies all teeming
with every kind of life, but the sweetness of true compassion
remains as rare as golden flowers angels planted in the air.
Now it is October again, and everything is swaying
playfully in the fragrant Autumn winds. The sunsets
are more spectacular too along the continental rim.
Temperatures are dropping, we stack firewood to burn.
Not far in the distance, Winter is approaching fast.
Once again, the light will turn.