Certain wild places sing to us

in the middle of the night,

appear in our dreams,  speak our name

in between tasks, so that finally we listen.

It is then we remember how to make a pathway

to meet what calls us.  Coming with only

our faith; arriving, to find we are noticed—

the fiddleheads unfurl in sunlight,

the heartbeat of mycelial networks quicken

with our footfall, tiny butterflies sip

from the mud where we press our palms to feel

the warmth moving under the earth again. 

This is an ordinary transfiguration.

A simple alchemy.   A miracle.

We have whispered a thousand prayers to get here. 

We have traveled a long way in body or soul,

to come with hands outstretched in offering, in longing.

When the wave rushes  over the rock drenching us,

when the tidal pull whips the silverlight waters

into a froth at our feet, we know…

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