Mustard seed

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.

Among darkening mountains
sending roots down
into your despair
only a small thing in your hand
a rowboat among battleships
a soft song shredded by wind
What equals the wheelbarrow
before you full of laundry
or papers or stained bed sheets?
How does the bird find her way
to the Patagonian plains
or the salmon up the impossible stream?
What raises the oak?
What fills the moon so full? The sea?
Close your eyes and look around
the fingerprinted clay molded into you
along the bones of your years
the decaying soil of your will
beneath your continent
something shimmers
nothing more than a word
drawn up like a tide, a forest
a song sung by generations in harmony
a root that cracks the mountains
not the least bit anonymous
someone holds you close
in this umbilical world
a warmth is given
a rain falls on something
no greater than a mustard seed

Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light

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