Manna

A lake in northern Michigan. I slip
Into the water, chilly still in this
First light of summer day. I pull the board
From off the dock and climb on top, my old
And achy frame another time aloft.
Who knows how many more? But to the day
Sufficient is the joy as well as grief.
So off I go. The paddle strokes propel
Me down the lake, a southward path, a soft
North breeze across my face. I scan the shore.
I’ve made my turning point a grassy field
Where, in the mornings, brindled cows breakfast.
They chew with calm and focused discipline,
The crazy racket of the rustling birds
A matter of indifference to them.
And then they see me, and the eating stops.
A man who walks on water. There’s a thing.
I watch as cow theology sorts through
The implications for their lives and souls.
But soon they turn back to the grass at hand.
For to be fed is all they really need. 
And so it goes for all who yearn and feed.