Briskly Hoping

I have a restless spirit.

It longs

It yearns

It reaches for a tomorrow

Of riches too long imagined

I walk briskly hoping to release

The weighty burden, shoulders drooped

Brow furrowed

Straining, pushing, struggling

My footsteps quicken

To match the cool relief of winter’s air

That fills my lungs and washes

The dark night from a soul

That wants only to land, to perch, to rest

To find the hollow of a tree and no longer

Hear the call that pulls me forward

but instead invites rest.

My eyes drill the pavement beneath my feet,

As if the truth lay buried there

A graceful limb, a nesting chick,

a squirrel in search of his own

Kingly feast, escapes my notice

Then, I hear it. The clear,

Crystalline voice of feathered

Life that cares so little

For tomorrow, or yesterday

Or false imaginings

Her melody lifts my eyes, my spirit

From their wasted, futile work.

Her little bird soul reaches out to mine

And I know she sings of riches

That cannot be sought or owned.

She calls me here. She calls me now.

She is rest.