What theatrics and amazing beauty in the sky all evening!
I went over the fields on my little garden tractor flushing out the bugs the swallows
swooped around to eat.
The thunderheads lily-white above me like great friends walking by
on their way to be on their way.
I love being so present to the field.
To notice the contours and wild weeds and grasses,
the small toad crawling out of my path.
To be for a short time, out of time,
going around and back and forth,
cutting a minute and precarious order
through the tall grasses and wildflowers;
becoming in a small way the breeze over the sway of weeds;
the cardinal and blue jay and gold finch seaming the space of sky, the borders that fringe and unravel so easily,
breaking me open to drift like the cumulus and thunderheads overhead.
The space of the Lord that is always near, calls out,
“Here, here, listen!”
And the self that is mowing continues mowing
while the child of God plays
and delights in the Lord.
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