Gratitude and Grace

The hills, how they roll. Softly sloping emeralds bejeweling the crown of August with its high corn and sunflowers drooping their heavy heads, like me, in silent celebration, a noiseless halleluiah.

The world, how it glimmers. How it appears to be sitting still, beneath the fingertips of the sun, as if some new form of incredible light has just sprung into being and is shedding itself over the garden of the universe.

My mind, how it flickers. Static with the commotion of its ten-thousand children. Thoughts whirling, dust rising in the wake of a stallion’s hooves, the crackling energy of a storm at sea, bending me as if I were the bough of an evergreen. The flailing curtain of rain opens its mouth to speak: “What have you lost sight of? Reclaim your honor. Fall to your knees. Be true to your journey, your gateway, your Self.”

Summer’s fragrance, how it settles. How the cool sheet of its kindness comes to rest against my feverish thighs, as I try, all the while, for a little gratitude, a little grace.   

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