And won’t you slow your pace, and let us look at least upon your shadow as you move? Your darkened form walks all too swiftly through these thickets, and some rams among our flock command me stay behind. They say my words disrupt their meditations, and my feet usurp the path that theirs would take. You need me, so they say, to be unseen, unheard, and let my sheepish silence be the sign of my devotion. Bleating arguments, we wait for you to turn; but until then we trot as troubled stragglers in your line,
not knowing how to reconcile our aims, or even if our shepherd is the same.
Several years ago, a neighbor of mine gave me a birdhouse. It was the perfect size and structure for bluebirds to build their nests inside. I put it on a wood post in the yard, which turned out to be a bad idea. Neighborhood cats dug their claws into the wood and climbed up to kill the newborn chicks. The nest became a grave.