Remains

I am wired anxious.  It seems to be the way my brain is wired.  A natural predilection which does not make staring at what remains to be done, to be seen, to be heard ... well... it does not make it a comfortable place.      Yes I do believe that God is in charge of that big pile of remains in front of me.  Some of the pile is mine to consider more carefully.  Most has been allocated elsewhere.

It remains to be seen.

It remains to be heard.

It remains to be discerned.

So much  

Simply

Remains.

I gaze at the snow,

Consider what I must do,

Consider what I must leave

On someone else*s plate.

If it is not mine

God has surely decided

To allocate it

Elsewhere,

For whatever reasons

In that unfathomable pile of things

That are not mine

To decide

To do

To wrestle with.

I gaze at the snow.

I offer the remains.

I watch the ducks.

It seems I am doing

Nothing

Ok

Almost nothing

But consider

The remains.

They are not mine.

They remain to be seen

They remain to be heard

They are in the pile

The pile

Remains.