I watch a spider,
hung from a tree.
In these two lines of writing
he’s risen two feet,
now six feet off the ground,
yet two feet from the nearest branch.
Hung from his
“silver cord”
as we are,
light years and
lifetimes from home,
swinging in
this precious human body.
Creating anchors for
our swinging in the wind
of houses and bank accounts,
jobs and friends,
children and families.
And yet
we know it all swings
by a gossamer thread.
Ready to fall into
the arms of Creator,
if we can but trust.
An expensive commodity.
Lizette Estelle Stiehr
August 14, 2011
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