The still pilgrim ponders a paradox
“As an earthling, you are traveling in space at this very moment
at a speed of 67,000 miles per hour on the ancient pilgrimage
of Earth’s 365 day journey around our daystar, the sun.”
—Edward Hays, A Pilgrim’s Almanac
Who knew that stillness could be so fleet?
The ancient oak an athlete.
The garden wall stacked brick on brick
a staunch imposter, heretic
devoted to the need for speed.
With planted feet you still exceed
the jet plane’s thrust, the bullet’s hustle.
And yet you do not move a muscle.
This world was never made for rest.
From north to south, from east to west
all living things traverse
while hurtling through the universe.
And still you stay as still can be
unmoved by your velocity.