Circle of Life

(leaves as Essence. flowers as Reminder. fruit as Gift.)

I walked along our street one day.

A century-old house peered down at me  grumpy and settled-in crumbling just enough to be beautiful.

The sidewalk stones  buckled buckling from the slow-determined pressure of sprawling oak roots.

Clover and daffodil greens fold out of the earth obstinate in their assurance of upcoming warmth.

Crawling vines thrust forward their red bursting berries or their small hard ones — proud of their fullness or their promise of fullness —

or their delicate white flowers — shy and fragile and childlike or fragrant and alluring — both coaxing the world ever nearer.

Tiny trumpets of purple flowers below remind me of taller, drooped petals I just passed. I recognize the wisdom of these small ones, and the relative dumbness of the venerable oak, who I love.

The grasses whisper their status in the grand order of things — much higher than mine — and evince it by reaching up to me, supporting my heavy step on the path allowing me to crush them to death as they sigh in unwavering devotion anything anything for you my love

Yellow petals scatter at my feet, and I stand, momentarily shy in the light of their adoration.

I take note of outstretched branches, marveling at what they give me and wondering how I can get more.

I feel worshiped and blessed and kissed by the green still ones and feel worthy.

The trees, in their silent jubilation, cry out to me come come my beautiful every step is hallowed and perfect we lay at your feet in service to you

The trees, in their silent jubilation, cry out to each other how lovely how awesome how glorious to soon devour such a magnificent thing

Every root  every tendril bears me home. The lavender perfumes the air. The brown leaves rush in anticipation of my arrival.

blessed blessed  they cry holy holy holy forever we have worshiped forever we will worship

you, you flawless  exquisite morsel of God.