With the Wild Ones

On this Easter day, as others flock
to churches and organ music or
brass ensembles proclaiming
the resurrection of Jesus,
I am drawn to quiet,
to the woodlands and
the silence of all but birdsong and
the wind in the trees and
the running stream's murmuring 
over rocks.
Here I can kneel and give thanks for 
the carpet of these tiny ones on the forest floor -
spring beauties and dwarf ginseng and 
trout lily, blooming where nobody sees 
or appreciates them. Except me.
And God.

I wonder at the garden 
where Jesus was laid.
Was it as lovely and
as peaceful as here,
where I walk with Him
this morning?
In this this time-created garden
not made with human hands,
we sit together,
He and I,
and with the wild ones 
we enjoy our own
quietly exuberant
celebration 
of Easter.