straight down. Your gaze will pierce
the incessant flow (by the crashing weir).
By the grace of today’s light you may
perceive, deep below the surface,
fixed, impossibly anchored:
green strands of life. As tender as
grass stalks in a meadow (which tomorrow
will be gathered and thrown into the fire)
but even now steady,
slowly swaying like easy dancers, unselfconscious,
the music in their blood playing in their souls:
here is nature at prayer.
No comments:
Post a Comment