This morning a doe and her fawn have come from the river
to eat green branches of honey locust
cut and piled for burning.
In time we lose interest in who we are supposed to be.
I am a box of air, emptying and filling
When I believe I am something special
drawn there by hidden fear
I feel it as loss.
Your friendship is a gift.
It reminds me I am still alive.
Keeps me focused on the simple longing for God.