Winter. The still time.
Sometimes I get nudgy
habituated to movement and action
when what is called for is non-doing and rest.
I tremble and plead for answers to my questions put as demands:
Tell me, show me, send me a sign.
When what is called for is rest.
I want to fling myself
into certainty and “the known”
when what is called for
If only I had the answers, I tell myself.