This universe abundant offers me
More gifts than many lifetimes might receive.
Why then do I continually grieve,
When all I lack is receptivity?
The earth, I know, is cure for my disease;
As conation grows dim, my senses shine;
Amid the evergreens, I cease to pine;
In Nature's pace, I find a healing ease.
This hour congeals, a pregnant time of choice.
Might I open to wonder that is life,
Or linger, calmed in good Sylvania's realm?
Midst silence, I attend a whispered voice,
A woodland sylph who counsels me that strife
Alone results when I assume the helm.
#2 in the I Ching Sonnet project