Christ is sleeping in our boat on all this roiling life.
Why we stress so when the maker of the universe lay sleeping in peace.
Oh, to wake and be in Christ with my first thought am I blessed.
My little daughter is still sick and coughing.
I will tend to her with the tenderness of lilies.
The breezes are beckoning me outside.
They are animating the world and calling me to play,
to walk in awe through the snow tipping into the tops of my not tall enough boots.
I will go back to the stalls and lay straw down for the horses' beds,
replenishing the dryness of them,
shaking anxieties out with the bales,
this dry labor,
while listening to wind lapping the edges of leaves--
the song of sleeping
swaying.
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