Our translucence is present
And viable. A puzzle piece standing vigil,
Secured in the corner, similar to glue.
Quiet and tall as sacred totem poles do
In the night as wild beasts pass.
We say little,
Displaying nothing other than a heart.
Wind pushes cold air. Clouds billow
Overhead laden with rain.
A storm rumbles and shrieks,
For us who stand, we stand still.
Let the roar come, we will not run, we say.
We know very little, except where to plant
Our boots, deep in the earth.
Our offering is small but worthy of passage.
Light will shine when the storm settles,
When the rain washes the shadows from
The trees, then what is will be known.
Weathered Well 