The Speed of Submission

A morning of chores, baking
bread, washing dishes, folding
clothes- a sudden gasp of revelation;

why am I fixed here? So like trees
whose roots anchored in the soil or
trembling leaves sewn into their bough;

I am glued into the fabric of my body,
this unyielding discipline of fate.
But then I see the tiny hummingbird

from my window, feeding on the flowers,
his rapid heart and wings so engrossed
in purpose, he hardly pauses.

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