Fellow Traveller

Where did you come from
O little fly?
To rest on this window
that races with the wind?
Where is your home?
Where are your friends?
Do you have a family?
You who wash your face
with your folded hands,
You who brush your wings,
readying them for flight,
Is that your prayer? I wonder;
Who made you so fearless,
so carefree, so present?
I wonder,
as my heart flutters,
then stills,
upon your restful wings;
And I give thanks
to this moment
as we journey together,
and I ask myself -
What would it be like
to make a home
in each moment
and passing space,
of emptiness
within emptiness?
What would I do
differently
if I lived like you,
with my one, precious,
maverick life?

* We were driving along the highway, and after a brief stop to have a picnic lunch, this little fly joined us  on our journey. I watched him for a long time, as he sat beside me and washed his face, and brushed his wings, until our next stop, when he flew away as the door was opened. He was the inspiration for this poem and my fellow traveler, who taught me a thing or two about living Life.