Something is calling to me
from the corners of fields,
where the leftover fence wire
suns its loose coils, and stones
thrown out of the furrow
sleep in warm litters;
where the gray faces
of old No Hunting signs
mutter into the wind,
and dry horse tanks
spout fountains of sunflowers;
where a moth
flutters in from the pasture,
harried by sparrows,
and alights on a post,
so sure of its life
that it peacefully opens its wings.
~Ted Kooser “In the Corners of Fields” from Flying at Night.

I am a visitor here,
even though we’ve lived here
for more than 30 years.

There is something to be discovered in the field
each day if I make an effort to look and listen.

My Merlin app on my phone tells me
the birds I hear around me.
A photo of a wildflower or weed
is identified by Google.
The jet flight tracks overhead
are pinpointed by another app
saying who is flying where.

Yet I’m placed right here by my Maker.
He knows where I am at all times,
the words I write,
the thoughts I pray.

I try to be at peace in these turbulent times:
to be sure of this life I’m given,
to be sure to Whom I belong,
to simply open my wings to the light,
to be ready to fly when my time comes.