#292
(written at Assumption Abbey, south of Ava, MO)

In Pace Requiescat

Butterfly,

yellow, makes a subtle putter sound

while a hawk floats on thermals high above

the tree line, hills behind me, on the southern horizon.

I sit in a green-painted metal chair,

one of the old ones, with a shield-shaped back,

the sun behind me, warming my neck,

patches of clouds, cirrus, on an unusually clear blue day.

Birds

chirp, twonk, tweep,

while crickets crick,

cicadas hum,

and breezes whisper

through the stand of Scotch pine,

showing the first signs of the murderous

mountain pine beetle,

Dendroctonus ponderosae,

brown needles

on low lying branches,  while

Monks,

dead, stay put,

their prayer and work,

Ora et Labora, at an end,

forever listening

with the ears of their heart,

twenty feet from

their abbey home,  a cemetery

of white Botonée crosses. 

catherinenglish 10-19-2013