You tiptoed the creek bed hunting unicorns, or becoming one. A voice whispering inward, pointing out hoof-prints on lichen. Your words echo over water, scattered like apple blossoms: lost to gravity around me, buoyed on good news. Orchards bloom in unison yet root from disparate springs; our family drinks from an everflowing aquifer. Waterfowl scatter at your gallop. You take my hand, begging now, or we’ll miss it. Little tree, shed the scoffers who wilt in the frost; blessed is your small voice, never too loud to be lost.
The word of the Lord came to me, saying, “Jeremiah, what do you see?” And I said, “I see an almond branch.” Then the Lord said to me, “You have seen well, for I am watching over my word to perform it.”
Jeremiah 1:11-12 ESV