immanuel (a psalm in late summer)

I wrote this one only one August ago, and yet so much has changed. I've been doing much remembering lately, and it helps, to recall the small ways that the mystery of God has been revealed to me. The beauty and presence of God that was in our midst persists, even if we have to work a bit harder to recognize it, even if we have to work a bit harder to sing along.

“Do not fear, I am with you always,” you whisper,
always whispering (what does your voice sound 
like when you are not? I want to remember it)
in the rustle of the wind and the leaves in the trees, 
in my half-full glass of tea, in my empty bowl 
of oatmeal, in the birds 
trilling, all around, in the green, everywhere green 

We decided your favorite color must be green, or 
maybe you just knew we should like it best, a theme and
variations, depending on the light, or the swiftly changing wind, 
from one beauty to another. 
Thank you that the wind in the poplar trees 
is you, here, and that the bird song I haven’t heard in so long 
(or maybe I wasn't listening)
is here this morning, and that is you, too. 
And the shadows of the branches dancing
on the fence- that is you too, isn’t it? Let it be you!

O my God, thank you for not being a senseless God! 
I don’t mean in your mind, but I mean that you touch 
us. But I mean you are not black and white, but I mean 
you are full of color, and moving, 
and tasting and seeing. You are full of light, and song, 
and not only words on a page but geese overhead,
and a chorus of trees and the sky blue and the roses 
bright red, unable to do anything but burst 
forth in praise, unable to do anything but join in,
into the song everything else is already singing:
“thank you. fear not. take heart. I love you.”