In the woods I listen for God’s voice.
(That’s what I think, but really
I’m just listening to my own expectations.)
The brook is babbling
but nothing else has anything to say.
The ferns are speaking in tongues,
but they are tongues of silence.
The breeze offers sighs too deep for words.
The trees stand like old men at the Western Wall,
bowing back and forth.
I wonder what they are saying,
but they are contemplating,
they can’t be bothered with speaking.
A chickadee lights on a dead branch
and looks maybe at me, maybe not.
Other birds are singing but not this one.
It’s just there.
Little bird, what is your message for me?
But it has no message. It’s just there.
And then, in that moment—
but only for a moment—
I am just there.
It takes the rest of my morning walk
to leave behind all the words and ideas
and just be there with
the One Who Is Present.
August 27, 2020