Tuesday, November 23, 2021


Poem Day 23


Miracles swoop down at times;
other times, they drizzle in
like early morning rains in the mountains.

Still other times, it seems they linger
somewhere in the dense fog and forest,
not showing themselves, hiding from us

like children playing hide n’ seek.
They are there, but we cannot see them
or feel them or smell them.

Yet, they are there, all around us.
We often do not recognize them
because we seek Moses or Enoch-like miracles:

the parting of the great Red Sea
or mountains being moved from here to there,
even the appearance of angels.

We fail to see the small ones,
not getting hit on our bike,
receiving a letter from an estranged child,

or fresh apple pie on your doorstep,
or even a call out of the blue
at the very moment you are having a bad day.

They are there, usually, right before our eyes.
When we look with open eyes,
perhaps even our spiritual eyes,

the fog dissipates and the clouds lift,
and they appear, almost magically,
hanging thickly on every branch and scattered

on the ground like fall leaves and pine cones.
We can gently reach down
and scoop up as many as we would like.

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