“Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think . . .” ~Eph 3:20

Through the culvert under the highway,
we follow the creek to a slow bend
under a canopy of leaning birch trees.
On the shore, we leave our shoes
and stand at the pebbly edge
of the crisp pool observing
a colony of water striders skating
across the surface tension like
mutant figure skaters, like tiny,
spindle-legged Jesuses,
safe above an opaque ocean.
Held in place by inscrutable forces,
their tiny weight-dispersing feet float
them at angles. They pivot and dart,
pleasingly ignorant of drowning. We are all
well-pleased. Who can fathom
the grave-like cocoon that explodes
into flight; the buried seed thrusting
toward harvest; the lonely descent
of leaves in autumn? None can appreciate
the inertia of such elegant capitulation,
the significance of such a beautiful,
needful death.