Never Fearing Wild Things

Your Spirit moves

In the sinews of my soul

Like 100 tiny ants

In the tight bud of a peony.

Driven by a purpose that is life itself

Pressing into places too small for even a breath of air

Pushing with vocation

And love

With need

And passion

With movements so small

The naked eye is baffled

Opening pathways

For air

For sun

For hope

And the release

The sweet release

The breath of air

That fills my lungs

And pushes petals from darkness

Into light

From darkness 

Comes light

Colour

And fragrance

O the fragrance!

The sweet release

Of what was held captive

Until tickled 

By the movements of your Spirit.

Written in June 2022 (based on the myth, sweet as it is, that ants are needed to open a peony – they aren’t, but the image/metaphor is indeed sweet, especially of the Spirit tickling us open)