Lectio

At first glance
I thought it was the wind
caught playful on a single branch.

Across the monastery close
the tree, alive.

But closer concentration
sees the squirrel
tail brushed and pointing
as it leaps from twig to twig
along the larger branch,
not falling.

I dig a rut through the day
seeking God.
Hospitality wanes.
Obedience, stability, conversion
slip unpracticed from my heart.
I waver toward the dark.
And suddenly
there is the squirrel, running.

From A Hermit Holds My Heart
Ellen Porter
Benetvision