Time Passing Under the Siamese, Silly-Leaf Tree*

By my part of the stream in a corner of the park, the new summer breeze draws its silk cape over my bare arms.
Who knows what may come or go?
But may God receive praise for it all.
For this moment: the grass bits on this paper, the sap from that old tree: knowing that life probably goes on.
For the last moment: when I saw the soft heart of someone for whom I'd given up hope.
And for the next moment: when life will continue or end at Your pleasure.
Be praised, Great God.

Ant biting my ankle.
Two mallards swimming by.
A groundhog, honestly, nibbling at leaves above its head, exposing its soft belly.
A branch creaking in the wind, like a strange bird or a rusty door,
and, naturally, two heavy-footed humans scare the groundhog away, and the breeze stops,
as does the rusty door-branch. The mallards are past now.
The stream is still flowing, at least.

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*I believe we've talked about how I don't know the names of things in nature. This is a tree whose trunk splits very low, creating two, and whose leaves look like mittens and high-five hands.