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