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ROBED
Hidden. Nothing to lure my attention. No distinction between the creature and its base, blended in place. Until it moves. Then like Adam, dust taking breath, earth comes to life from death and moves mysteriously across what is set and still. The moth has will. Different than everything around, from branch to ground. Its soft wings extended, casting shadow over a path of similar cover. Gifted a robe of splendid colors, unlike his brothers and many others, this one will journey exposed and protected. Over unsteady lichen or dead leaves, a night flight to distant trees, unaware of how many times death and injury was thwarted by the unseen favor that covered his fragile life. And I wonder about my own cover in a place that seems fitting, but not. The times I’ve felt exposed and caught in schemes, when You clothed this dreamer of dreams to fearlessly do what I was made to do.
(Genesis 37, 39-50)