Cottonwood Moment

Who has cried here, sighed here

Wanted to die here

Laughed here, snacked here

Sat in the grass here

Thought here, fought here,

Kissed and made up here

All in a human moment

Passed by and wondered nothing more

Than what is for dinner later

Or sat and prayed and pressed

Feet into the sand

Wrestling with the Breath in the trees:

Give me relief

It's hot out here,

Up here,

In here:

This aching, human moment.

Who rather has heard the bird chirp,

Watched the water swish on the shore,

And rested with the Breath in the trees,

Who has watched an ant crawl

Across the dirt and climb

A single blade of grass,

Having done heavy lifting in order to build a home, yet—

His place in his hill

And his colony

And the great, wide world

Is understood by none of these but God

Who has done which things

And who has not

And which of these can say—

They have forgotten to be anxious

And forgotten to blame themselves

And forgotten to withhold forgiveness

And forgotten to doubt their worthiness

(Or anyone else's)

And forgotten to distrust

If only for a divine moment

Wrestling or resting

Observing or unloading

The leaves of the cottonwood tree above

Still move with the Breath

Covering the space, holding it all

Regardless of the moment

For the sake of the moment

Laughter, thoughts, footprints will go—

They are fleeting—

And now we must ask:

Which of these are anxious

Which of these still blame

Which of these withhold

Which of these yet doubt

Which of these distrust

All I know to say is that

Gone might be the human moment

But the one who listens, watches, and rests will see

The cottonwood, the Breath, the water—

And the ant in the dirt that keeps on building.

Cottonwood at Saylorville Lake, IA, May 2025