Good Haunting: A poem for Pentecost

The first time I heard her stuttering
smooth edged call from the woods,
I said Thank You out loud,
oddly grateful to be awake.

To have the conscious knowing
that I was within her wingspan,
that she was keeping deep, soft vigil
over me and all that rested within me.

Ethereal, yes, and good haunting.
A lingering I do not mind,
a hush, an unseen certainty,
a presence I trust.

Oh to be haunted over and again,
awake, asleep, aloof and stumbling,
with such steadfast keeping.

Come, Holy Spirit, spread your wings.

Kimberly M. King

(Story behind the poem: While on retreat about an hour away from Halifax, I have woken up multiple times in the night and heard an owl calling from the woods…I found it profoundly soothing, consoling…)