Connor Stubblefield, M3, Class of 2022
The row of pink lines, round faces tousled at every frill and trill by the wind, finds its needs met in you.
The shorter friends, purple and yellow bunches tossed not as much by the wind as by the butterflies and bees that leap and jump from their platforms—yes, these too, the flowers and the bright flitting patterns under the sun, find their needs met in you.
The bright green old man finds his needs met in you as he clings precipitously to a bright green stalk under pink shadows of round faces. The stalks bend ever slightly with the wind, and the old man could jump from long legs, but crawls on ponderously. Yes, he finds his needs met in you.
By the small pond, the grey turtle on the duck ramp finds his needs met in you, and if we were to ask the somber-eyed feathered fowl, they too would add their agreement as they shift weight over orange ankles.
The tall oak, though met suddenly with pain in the night, a branch falling to the ground, loosened by the wind, still stands taller than the sons of man, pointing upward with the flowers, their faces all toward God above. She too finds her needs met in you.
The tall girl seated on the stone pillar, rough against her legs, is tossed too by the wind with the tall oak and the tall stalks. Though creased with care, opening up to open outward before folding up to look inward, and though life can be uncareful, and though the broad winds and the fast winds and the cold winds push and pull with many different voices, she, with all creation, waits, face upturned, for the provision from your hand.
And she finds her needs met in you.