The frogs did not seem to notice
the absence
of little white balls
falling
into their little pond
beside the little patch
of smooth even grass.

The robins did not seem to mind
that the once carefully mown
long narrow fields
had grown tall
hosting
many more bugs
to eat.

At the divinity school
poets, prophets, priests,
and a few other
random seekers
applied the balm
of St Teresa of Avila’s words
to their troubled souls
as they continued to ask
“what do you want of me?”

We practiced reading
and writing
and thought about
nature poetry
and hymnody.

A friend told me
a true calling does not go away
easily
and that I will not be happy
until I more fully
follow mine.

In the evening
the poets, prophets, priests,
and random others seekers,
gathered to share
vine and verse;
I had missed the chance to sign up
so I only listened,
awed and humbled
by the talent surrounding me
longing
to set up three tents,
and find my place.