Maybe it’s not important,
the roll of days, the roll of years –
we are not stuck on them –
our lives move forward in the stride of Spirit,
our gains swift rides of capturing the wind,
and revelations, slow unfurling as a sprout,
coming present like the dew
in the dip of late night’s coldness,
suddenly apparent when the morning light
finds it on the grass.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 10, 2022