Giving Thanks

The highest form of prayer is to the goodness of God...
         
                                                                                     Julian of Norwich

I am grateful to God for the infusing smell of rain in the air,
the breeze blowing hard the glass-balled chime from the porch roof,
the horses' lazy lay in the sunshine soaking it deep into their bones,
long conversations with my sister over the phone now that we are talking again,
an old lady friend brightening at my visit to her in the hospital the eve before back surgery,
buying food at the market to feed the hungry,
the kingdom love that comes with its soft voice saying here and again here,
the counter work, the cutting and chopping and scrubbing and dish handling, 
early morning preparations of lunches and snacks and the placing of them
into messenger bags with love notes,
to be opened like a little part of my soul going along with my girls to school,
to say I am here for you for a time, but the Lord is always with you, for all of time
till the end of time and eternity,
the barely awake labors of love in the blue predawn,
sleepy heads and tussled hair like wind-strewn shore fields,
their soft selves unfolding in my arms into the new day,
my daughter learning the language of horses and the training she is receiving,
my youngest daughter's fingers going over the violin, her small self making big music,
discipline and blossoming and fruits,
our Lord in the here and now--
in the deep pools of our eyes,
the golden coins of leaves falling into the blue purses of air,
the smoldering-red sun through the mists in the bottom field,
the deep violet and gray clouds scudding by,
my son's silent laughter when something humorous this way comes,
my strong hands looking more like my Great Grandmother's from the old country,
my daughters getting off the bus, walking toward home and refreshment up the gravel-rutted lane,
the cardinal singing his heart out every first light...