Critters chasing through high trees,

squirrels limb to limb and birds,

in flight, one to another to another,

and the song,

songs,

braiding on the wind,

wind gathering applause of soft and hardening

oak leaves,

dark, thick, fresh to the season,

and I,

far into the unsettling,

year of the unsettled,

take counsel:

keep faith, drop the choking self-doubt,

open back up, out, into Spirit–

no flower is itself

without

loss,

loss of safety’s deceit.

Nothing guarantees certainty but

betraying yourself for mere

survival.

That rushing in?

Trust it.