I watched how the sun
sifted through the firs,
how it dappled the eager forbs,
stretching out long
after months as ground cover
I felt how the warmth was bestowed
in the precise places where the sun hit,
and I considered how precise
my thought must also be,
to pick out truth
and not slop over into lies,
and how sun-like this practice really is,
the bright places and the shadows
all basking in the overflow of grace.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 27, 2021