Saturday, July 2, 2016

Skeletons fell on our deck, O Lord

– two the blackened bones
of baby birds, one most likely
a lizard, its long white spine
outlining its form.

Rain washed these bones
from the nest of a hawk, high
overhead in our magnolia tree,
whose brown-flecked petals
are falling still and quietly
curling on our deck – another
reminder of passing time and death.

When it comes, Lord, I know
You’ll be here with more strength
to carry me than these pine boards
on which I stand -- and surely
with less ferocity than the baby
birds and lizard bore at the beaks
of those young hawks – grown now
and flown away, leaving behind
skeletal reminders of my own.

They say awareness of our mortality
brings wisdom, Lord, but I’m
thinking it gives cause for faith
to seek and find You, breathing
life into my bare bones of thanks
and praise.

by Mary Harwell Sayler, © 2016