And with a cup of tea
on the porch off the old classroom.
Praying with the nuthatches and chickadees
foraging at the feeder and in the goldenrod out back,
and with the song sparrows and chipmunks
rustling through last years' leaves.
Praying with the horses on the hillside
and their foggy breath
as the sun rises over the mountain,
light slanting through the black cherry
and the birches.
Praying with the dew glistening in the hayfield
and the spider's silk slung between ash branches,
with yellowing ferns
and lingering asters
and sugar maple leaves dropping
one by one.
The stone schoolhouse,
filled with two centuries of memories,
feels too crowded for my silent prayer.
Outdoors I sit,
accompanied by descendents
of the long ago wild ones,
in praise and thanksgiving
for this morning,
for this land,
and for the One who has been always here.
