The word humility, like the human, comes from humus, or earth.

We are most human when we do no great things. We are not so important; we are simple dust and spirit- at best, loving midwives, participants in a process much larger than we.

If we are quiet and listen and feel how things move, perhaps we will be wise enough to put our hands on what waits to be born, and bless it with kindness and care.

~Wayne Muller

when I pause to notice another season upon me….

inquiry for today~ may you dive in to a deeper mystery….

forever kind

Late August—
This is the plum season, the nights
blue and distended, the moon
hazed, this is the season of peaches

with their lush lobed bulbs
that glow in the dusk, apples
that drop and rot
sweetly, their brown skins veined as glands

No more the shrill voices
that cried Need Need
from the cold pond, bladed
and urgent as new grass

Now it is the crickets
that say Ripe Ripe
slurred in the darkness, while the plums

dripping on the lawn outside
our window, burst
with a sound like thick syrup
muffled and slow

The air is still
warm, flesh moves over
flesh, there is no

hurry

~Margaret Atwood