Snow Falling Into Fields

Let me seek, then, the gift of silence, and poverty, and solitude

where everything I touch is turned into prayer:

where the sky is my prayer, the birds are my prayer, 

the wind in the trees is my prayer,

for God is all in all.

Thomas Merton

                                                     It is the still quiet at first,
                                                or rather, the still quiet 
                                                that lowers each of us 
                                                into the well of His immense silence 
                                                within and beyond all silence;

                                                that guides me gently 
                                                into the thick prayer of winter evening fields 
                                                where no paths are visible
                                                beneath the falling and filling light; 
                                                the erasure of my coming and eventual going.