While shepherds watched their flock at night
Of shepherds of old, it was said that they rejoiced at the birth of the child and were witnesses to the voices of angels heralding the advent of the son. When the son came of age, he spoke of shepherds of many sheep who having sheltered the many left them to seek out the one lost sheep.
Maybe the shepherd had a responsibility, could not bear loss or for the life of another, albeit something as lowly as sheep, felt that all must be done to rescue that sheep and be brought back into the flock. More poignantly, the shepherd rejoiced at the finding of the lost sheep.
We be not as shepherds to be understanding of that reality, but knowledge is shared to make one reflect on maturity, duty, responsibility, and capacity. Some might have it and others are literally devoid of it.
O little hen, when, when, when?
Of the hen with a brood of chicks, protecting, nay, over-protecting the brood that not one chick in her eyes got to grow into either a hen or a cock. If the hen were human, the apron-strings grew to become ship tackle, bearing more than stress and strain, binding the brood into an imprisonment of the mind, readily emotionally blackmailed at the whim and caprice of an unconscionable manipulator, no, not an anthropomorphism at play.
For a hen, cannot be said to be a saint, nor can it be a devil. Whether the hen can be said to be good or evil is probably a level of poultry psychology in need of exploration. Yet, the hen had six chicks, then lost one and was left with five. Those sturdy wings that sheltered many lost many a feather that nary a chick was from then safe.
Maybe we should all be praying for time
Grief is understandable and rage that comes with it is probably borne of anger, but to project it on others belies a lack of maturity, grudges kept and allowed to seethe beyond the seminal might affect some and exasperate others. When the time to make peace is passed, the future holds the possibility of being at peace with oneself.
Those who have learnt to make gains after great loss are given the grace to live even more fulfilled lives of whatever is left to live and live for. It is well in the land of the silent, because it is sometimes prudent to be speechless, for nothing said is nothing imputed. The tale of the shepherd and the hen is an anacoenosis to the ponderous recorded for posterity.