the story that reminds me that not all matters depend upon my control
Three masked strangers crossed my path
as I trekked through autumn wood.
In black and grey, they made their way,
with no regard of me.
I wondered as they lumbered by,
if their motive, bad or good..
Why did my presence concern them not,
not even a passing look.
These furry,silent pilgrims,
wobbling down their well-worn path,
to their fishing, dining brook.
I watched the three from nearby trees,
as they worked their watery field.
Each in turn, each as could,
they caught their shining, wiggling prize,
their feast, this river's yield.
And when they finished with their course,
this chore now met and done,
the three masked strangers, journeyed back,
they crossed the path a final time,
of this nameless human one.