Quakers have this deep caring and drive to nurture paired with humbleness and silliness

The white pine is dying / a slow death

If, the quietest, most inconsequential
of words, if size / and sound matter

It is slow work coaxing this pot, these feathers/
From her oils

Insistent March winds/ Sweep the riverbank.

I have found that some of the “popcorn” Meetings have fed my soul, and that some have definitely not.

When I was a “baby Quaker” I would rise to speak rather frequently.  But now … I rarely rise to provide vocal ministry.