Walking with Kateri

My shoes, they crunch upon the gravel,
kicking up the dust,
sunlight spliced between the trees,
inviting wanderlust. 

Blue jay trills and woodpecker drills
in random soliloquy;
my failings and prayers cluster side by side --

restless soul needing wisdom to see.

 

I seek out Kateri, serene Mohawk friend,
perhaps standing beside a tree;
meek, unassuming, her Lily soul blooming,
she will fall in step with me. 

We walk, and we talk (but I hear only me),
the air growing fresh and pure;
I must improve much, but I feel her calm touch
upon me to reassure. 

As she departs, sweet hope springs alive
like a bursting, well-fanned flame;
and I know hope is due to this friend, mirror true
of His Love in her blessed name.  

(Written in honor of Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha, Lily of the Mohawks)