Afraid

They must know me after all these years,
The squirrels of this wooded hill
Who watch from their high perches
Each day at dawn
As I come bringing gifts.
Of peanuts, sunflower seeds, and corn.
Always they keep a wary watch,
Chattering from a distance
And scurrying away
When I come upon them unawares.
I still wish for a warmer greeting,
Some kinder acknowledgement
Of our long familiarity.
They are wild ones,
Their hearts and ears tuned
To the footsteps of foxes
And the high cries of hawks.
It is fear that keeps them alive,
The same barrier that distances them
From me, a good man, benevolent,
The founder of their feast.
I, too, know this thing--fear.
It stirs in me, and in us all.
It is the great darkness,
The yawning terror beneath all ills--
All anger, all resentment, all hate,
All that shadows and shames our world.
It is what prisons us in loneliness,
What holds us back from utter joy.
I read again this ancient story
Of heaven’s angels coming face to face
With a holy maiden,
Or showing themselves to shepherds one starry night.
The first word is always the same,
God’s word to us, the saving Word
To all who are frightened
Even by good and gracious news,
It is my word to my brothers and sisters
Flicking their tales overhead, waiting:
Be not afraid. Be not afraid.