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.
Who walks with beauty has no need of fear;
The sun and moon and stars keep pace . . .
Invisible hands restore the ruined year,
And time, itself, grows beautifully dim.