A New Song

This morning, I rose early to read
blessings and poems from the little book
I’ve begun making for myself.

Overnight the creek became a small river
rushing through the woods.
Let that be my kind of rushing.

The lightning flashed “yes” to each of our questions,
rolling thunder reminded us
that we were safe all along.

The finches and sparrows seem to know this,
as do the tulips and the daffodils,
the budding maples and the mountains
that gave them rise.

And I saw, I see,
that to pray is nothing other than simply being.

It takes time and timelessness.
It takes practice and intention.
It takes attention and devotion.
It takes humor and a light touch.
It takes everything and it takes nothing at all.
It doesn’t happen overnight,
and it happens overnight
just as surely as it’s suddenly spring.

And I–all I have to do is show up
for the grand opening
of a new day.
A new song.

We were safe. I was safe
all along.

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