Sixty-seven years, oh Lord, to look at the clouds,
the trees in deep, moist summer,
daisies and morning glories
opening every morning
their small, ecstatic faces—
Or maybe I should just say
how I wish I had a voice
like the meadowlark’s,
sweet, clear, and reliably
slurring all day long
from the fencepost, or the long grass
where it lives
in a tiny but adequate grass hut
beside the mullein and the everlasting,
the faint-pink roses
that have never been improved, but come to bud
then open like little soft sighs
under the meadowlark’s whistle, its breath-praise,
its thrill-song, its anthem, its thanks, its
alleluia. Alleluia, oh Lord.
this beautiful day……wherever you are…..
inquiry for today~ how many times will you notice your world? look up? and look down, feeling your feet……
In the wilderness, one of the things we can come to understand is the true nature e of our being. We are partly drawn into the woods, to the ocean, and to lush green meadows, because the waves, trees, and grasses are free from egoist habits of grandiosity, deficiency, comparing, or judging. They rest naturally in what they are, without self-consciousness, merged within the seamless fabric of life. There is beautiful freedom in that existence, and with close contact, we can have a similar experience of unity.