One Thousand years, and these great trees have barely grazed adulthood
While countries birth and die
And mountains shift their feet
Whole lifetimes only add a few thin rings
to ponderous span of living wood.
Perspective so diminishing, I stretch and ache to take it in.
My heart longs for the stillness hid within their shade.
To breathe the end of haste
To know my being as a rooted fact
No need to overfill each moment of each day
With proof that I have worth.
To feel the strength of standing still to grow.
But how can feet that itch to move take root?
What nourishment can flow
From quiet and from rest
That offers neither schedule nor result
And calls the hungry rush a lie?
Can this achiever’s heartbeat slow for open contemplation?
And can this heartbeat teach a rhythm of new life?
A slower growth
That does not jump to know, to do, to be
But sinks deep roots
To draw up living water
Stronger for the bonds that tie my life to the Eternal Source of growth.