“Could Small Things be Messengers?”

                    The Light that was There

August’s sun casts furrows of light upon the grass

Painting the lawn in tines of gold

Raking slumber, like fallen leaves, from my worldliness

Turning my soul to see the light that was there

To that which I was too busy to see.



 Fall’s when God frames earth gold and red

And creatures may behold heaven’s art upon every bough.



 Had I known what it would mean later

As I peeled shale and limestone pebbles

From the pond’s edge as a boy and

Fitted them between thumb and forefinger and

Flung them sidearm skipping across the water’s surface

I’d have thrown more and stayed longer.




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