I walk the trail in the aftermath
of a drenching rain.
Young trees laden with water,
thankful for their recent baptism,
bow in reverence.
Their slick leaves and slender branches
emit a happy glow,
as their roots drink deeply
of the glorious flood.
Would that I could be so grateful
for the simple blessing of rain
and bend myself in surrender
To the giver of sun, wind, and water.
But I grow old and stubborn.
Thick of branch.
My trunk rigid and inflexible
in the curious belief
that by standing tall
I grow beyond the need to bow.
Under Christ’s Mercy,
Brent