Saturday, February 26, 2022

A bug on a plate, without hiding place.

An ox before a plow, directed and laboring.

A hare, discovered and darting from the garden.

How you nurture and love all these things I am, Lord – in my quick fear, my labor, my exposure. You build a hedge of protection around me and I scarce notice.

Child of a king, let me rest easy, Lord, and walk through this day unspotted.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,574)