We don’t make the sun rise
but it does
We don’t engineer
the seasons’ changing,
And even our internal tides —
our breath and circulation —
don’t depend on our arranging
(Pay attention, oh me of little faith!)

In the splendor of the rolling days,
the mist, the clouds’ drift,
the uplift of leaves driven by wind,
In the gentle hand of sun-warmth
on the dampened land
there should be evidence enough

This life of mine,
more vast than I can comprehend,
is held in order
by a force beyond my own
and all the flights I dream and yearn for
are established
not by my efforts
but by my essence,
not by me
but by the Love that holds us all.

©Wendy Mulhern
October 12, 2014