Gently it falls
Water drifting on the wind.
Coming to rest like feathers on the warm summer grass.
It makes no sound as gravity reigns.
The cycle, inevitable and undisturbed.
The kingfishers at hunt
Taking their place above the dimpled lake.
Patiently, with strong wings
They need only do what nature asks.
So let it be here.
A request so gentle
In the silence of the storm
With the wisdom of the birds
Where thoughts fade into breath
And worries are carried off on swift wings.