Even though from different mothers,
The lambs assemble on a Spring morning,
Sticking together as if posing for a family shot,
Without mom or dad present.
Nature speaks loudly, needing no further explanation.
The water travels silently today,
The rain filling the cup of the mountainside fully,
But not torrentially.
Meanwhile the dead trees line it’s path,
Marking the easy way down,
If not the fastest.
To the outsider the scene looks dead,
And the stream old.
Yet each drop of water is new.
Renewing each moment and racing to refresh those in need.
Gathered for the evening,
Warmed by traditional music, holding their spirits intact,
Keeping their common plight in a sacred, if unwilling bond,
As captivity holds their bodies, not their hearts.
For renewal awaits and cannot be extinguished.
As if magically returning a mysterious call from outside their earthen lair,
Immediately disturbed, they leave the long sleep of winter,
And drive themselves uncontrollably through the soil,
Nourished by the sun and rain,
Calling them to a new and persistent life.
Where, they, surrounded by loved ones, feel the face of God.