MUD-HEN MENTALITY

November 19, 1999

I rode today along a dam that stopped the water for a pond,
And there a thought about all sham made me feel I should respond.
An old mud hen, with watchful glance, flexed her wings as if to fly;
She missed no step of my advance; not even one to blink her eye.

No doubt she’d often seen my horse, but not with me up on top;
The horse was just a horse of course, but me up top caused her to stop;
To take a quick survey, to look alive and wide awake;
“To stay or not to stay?” The choice was hers to make.

I felt she’d fly, and Skipper too: his ears pricked up, his eyes alert,
We stopped to watch that bird; I eased off and loosed the girt.
No flap of wings, no fast retreat, but diving down into the deep,
She disappeared, fast and neat, to safety that she thought she’d keep.

How human did that bird appear, as she ducked down clear out of sight,
But ducking does not quiet our fear, but rather cancels all our light;
The light that always lets us see, through faith, an ever open door,
That life provides for you and me to love and live forevermore.

But Skip and I outlasted her; submerged that long, all have to rise;
So now, or then, as we prefer, we all return to watchful eyes.
No doubt her fear made her dive into waters cold and dark,
But every bird, to stay alive, has, in the “light”, to re-embark.

It must have been a great surprise, when she came up to face the “light”
And flicked the dampness from her eyes and saw need to flee or fight.
We had no plan to hurt that bird; she dived so deep because of fear;
“Our foe is fear,” we have heard; and when fear fades, we’re all still here.