The Space Between Knowing

This morning, watching chickadees
dart between maple branches,
I notice how they pause
in the spaces where nothing seems to be,
finding purchase in empty air.

Like them, I learn to rest in the vast unknowing,
where certainty dissolves
like morning frost on grass,
and possibility spreads wide as sky.

What if uncertainty
is not an emptiness to fill,
but a clearing where wisdom gathers
like dew, where questions open
like wildflowers after rain?

Here, in this spacious doubt,
I find my wings,
learning to trust the air
that holds both birds and branches,
both knowing and not-knowing,

the way water holds
both shore and depths,
the way silence holds
both question and answer,
waiting for us to listen.