Awakening in a moment of peace
I give thanks
to the source of all peace
as I set forth
into the day
the birds sing
with new voices
And I listen
with new ears
and give thanks
nearby
the flower called Angel's Trumpet
blows
in the breeze
and I give thanks
my feet touch the grass
still wet with dew
and I give thanks
both to my mother earth
for sustaining my steps
and to the seas
cycling once again
to bring forth new life
sun-fire
the dewdrops
become jeweled
with the morning
sun's fire
and I give thanks
you can see forever
when the vision is clear
in this moment
each moment
I give thanks
Landscape is more than flat land covered by floodwater, the seeping of peat bogs, a river of liquid pewter viewed from a tower. It's an influence on what a person values, what she is willing to sacrifice or argue for. The interior landscape of a soul is, in part, a reflection of the exterior landscape.
After one hundred days of confinement following a bone marrow transplant, I rejoiced in taking short walks to a nearby park. The uncertainty of my survival made every blade of grass gorgeous in its green intensity, lifting itself up, doing its part to make the world more beautiful. Every breeze touching my neck was a gift, revitalizing me. I looked a the world tenderly, intensely, gratefully.