Attunement

In the abundance of this waning season,
let me be turned to You, O God.
In the sunflowers' cheerful faces
and the Joe-pyes' frothy billows,
in the barn swallows' final flight
and the goldfinches' tinkling song,
in the cicadas' rhythmic whining
and the coneheads' high-pitched drone,
in groundhogs fattening,
and foxes foraging on windfalls,
in the the black gums' first reddening
and the jewelweed's golden glow,
in the myriad offerings of late summer,
let me be turned to You, O God.
Let me be turned to You.

Sleepy Summer

Too tired to write yet the words
want to come.

Words to capture August's breezes,
and her heady scent,
tiger swallowtails on purple phlox,
and ruby throats-chasing the house finches
pecking holes 
in the ripening apples.

Words to paint blue dragonflies
over the pond,
and goldenrod in the fields,
amber meadow grasses waving,
and the buzzing of cicadas
and the bees.

Lazy August morning,
waiting for storms 
and listening to what the land
has to say.