After Biking To Church The Pastor Writes A Poem

Days after the rains the river

still swells but is back within its banks.

The air is crisp but gloves hold the heat and the sun

promises warmth to come.

Two geese are eating grass.

A squirrel risks its luck and darts in front of my tire.

A leashed dog squats, looks me in the eye,

And takes a morning crap.

The wheels turn true on the path as the rider

ponders Could a commute be a pilgrimage?

At the church awaits email and Zoom

and the annual report and more subtleties of the Divine.

Approaching High Street my awareness shifts.

Any one of these cars could crush me.    

A driver waves me through an intersection and smiles

and soon I have arrived.