It wasn’t any angel who hovered,

wings high, upright body,

head bowed, not in prayer,

so much as attention.

But really, any blessing

in a desert feels holy.

A small spark of energy

on a still hot morning

where all I can find are

fragments and pieces,

no threads to weave

them together.

Sometimes just enough has

healed to make the climb.

Sometimes the path through

the burning sand gives way

to water and a grove of palms.

Sometimes when it seems

you can’t take one more step

you realize that it’s breathing

and friendship that will always

save you—

and you remember to have faith

that the deep sacred well

that feeds the beating wings

of angels, (okay, hummingbirds)

and creeping lizards

and circling hawks

is also waiting for you,

just out of sight.

© 2024 Gretchen Schmelzer, PhD