These little faces,

open to light, rooted

in the humus I came from.

These blooms that wait,

unfurl just as morning

sun breaks the horizon,

just as the dew gentles 

the dust and the stems

imbibe, slake the thirst

from the long linger

of night, just as I rise,

call out, surrender my

needs before that same

Creator who clothes 

the wildflower and causes

the morning wren to sing, 

the One who restores you 

and restores me.

—C.L.  Fisher, October 2020

Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.

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