Silent and still
my father stands
before our summer shelter
He is thinking a prayer
to the Holy Ones,
asking them
this day
to keep our feet
on the trail of beauty.
Filling the silence
of my father's prayer
I hear the bluebird's song.
I believe we are free, within limits, and yet there is an unseen hand, a guiding angel, that somehow, like a submerged propeller, drives us on.