Language, No Words

I do not understand the noise
that comes from the television
or the freeways
or the open mouths
of the people in charge.

This is the language I understand:

The maple leaf
slowly twirling down
from its branch

The trickle of water
seeping out of the rocks

The water boatman rowing
to the bottom of the pool

The cottonwood leaves
turning, whispering
whispering, turning



Unto the Hills

When I am out here in the hills,
I am in God.

I am air warming and rising and cooling and falling; I am the hawk soaring on the air currents; I am the turkey vulture sweeping out from the rock over the canyon. I am the patient stone, worn to smoothness by millennia of caressing water; I am the water flowing, carrying, carving, rushing, quieting. I am trees rooted deeply and reaching high; I am wind dancing in the trees; I am the play between trees and wind; I am the song the two together make. I am the rocks on the hillside and the rocks inside the hill; I am the heaved and folded layers of the earth’s crust. I am the blue sky, the gold sun, the tiny white cloud, the fragrant green leaves, the rustling dry grass, the glinting darting dragonfly. I am bone, blood, sinew, muscle; I am the trail made by unseen deer, I am the walker on the trail. I am nothing. i am Everything.

Small Things

I praise you, O Mother-Father Gaia,
in all your small things

In your uncurling miniature ferns
In your coin-sized frogs
In your water insects with oars that speed them
to the bottoms of the pools

I praise your ruby-throated hummingbird
and your snail the size of a grain of wheat
I praise the ants that clear out their burrows
within hours of the rain
I praise the emerald raindrops
caught in feathery moss

I praise your jeweled spiderweb
and its striped weaver
I praise the blue moths
decorating the air

I praise these two small hands
You have given me,
and these feet:

I will use them to serve you
and praise you
forever and ever


A Prayer at Flower Communion

Flower Communion Prayer

Spirit of Life,
you who body forth in a myriad
of small, perfect, and also imperfect ways:
pink and purple and red and white and yellow petals,
pistils and stamens,
the dust of pollen,
fragrance to draw in bees
and the bees who make honey,
the hands of people holding flowers,
the eyes of people seeing flowers,
the hearts of people loving each other:
May we never forget how miraculous all this life is.
May we celebrate it in this moment and always.

Blessed be.