No Hurry

There’s no hurry here

in the wayward wandering of bees

or in the darting flit of smaller insects,

No hurry in the dark, damp bed of seeds

as moisture slowly moves in

towards their center

No hurry in their swell, their split,

their first root sprout uncurling

Or in the turn of sun across the sky,

through soft cloud edges burning

All gifts that softly rise

against the glow of muted skies

or in the brilliance

of their unsheathed blue

know in their code

how they must grow

and so they do

There’s no hurry here:

You, too, can walk this calm,

drinking in the strength of days —

your hope, your balm.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 24, 2013