Here and There

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Another Sabbatical Poem

Night in the Garden
Out in the country, the night smells like someone just mowed the lawn,
but no one has. 
Out in the tangle of tree and meadow,
deep in that darkness of untended nature-- a presence is there.
God is walking in his garden.
He’s running his God hand over the field,
releasing the scent of the grass, the plants growing, the dirt.
He’s rubbing the oak leaves between his fingers the way we do with the dried herbs over the sauce.  Such pleasure in this place.
Lift your face to the night.
Know your scent is wafting through the garden too and be unashamed.
Let the smell of the soothed earth soothe you; let him find you. 
Let him run his hands over your dry and crackly soul and release the scent of water and growth.

1 comment:

Bora said...