The trees are swaying and dipping, murmuring and hollering,
dropping and dripping; some prostrate themselves, as though
this were the Holy Spirit giving voice to their prayers with
sighs too deep for words.
The trees have been set free. They sing.
I am a little afraid of their religious fervour.
I am a little in awe of their holy abandonment.
I envy their prayer.
They have reduced me to a whisper.
I suppose I had imagined the trees
of the field on a summer’s day,
But creation is a […]