There was another year of Covid,

but we crawled out of our caves

like newborn butterflies with sticky wings,

slow and hesitant in the spring sunshine.

---

We hoped to migrate to a new home

of our own, a fresh start…

but the inheritance was not enough.

Nevertheless the landlord said, “Go.”

---

A flutter of wings, a flurry,

a tiny hurricane of stress,

and searching, searching, searching

for a safe place to land.

---

A flying in the dark

—a trusting through blindness—

through not knowing at all

what was meant to be.

---

The summer sun swelled with heat

yet no shady dale

or safe valley dappled with sunshine

appeared—until it did.

---

And then it did.

---

Out of the concrete embrace

of the city we flew,

away from sirens and cement

towards the cedars and starlight.

Towards wind whispering in the fir trees,

the moon staring at me on my patio

and winking as I grin and grin

at the wonder of my new home.

---

And evenings filled with sunshine

sparkling in the sprinkler-kissed grasses

of the wildflower field

that is my unmowed back yard.

And glistening on the rosy skin

of my newborn daughter,

sleeping like a little wild nymph

in my joyful arms.

“And all is well

And all is well

And all manner of things

shall be well.”

Julian of Norwich