I wrote this poem looking at the dry summer grass of the Northern California hills. I have always loved the sweet, dry earthy scent of the hillsides in summer. And in this moment the long suffering of grass in summer really struck me. I was also in a period of waiting and not yet understanding, and the posture of the dry grass became a prayer of my soul. A simple image to turn my heart to God who brings renewal in His time...
I am just a blade of dry grass whispering through the wind
I shutter and whisper
Shutter and whisper again
I am bending low listening
I am just a blade of grass dry and parched
Thin as a whisper I shutter and bend
I am just a blade of dry grass, dry as dry wind
I am listening to my brothers
They whisper with me
Listening to the ground
Listing to the song Carried on the winds
A song of summer
Searching the earth
Waiting for a body
Waiting to warm and touch something anything anyone
A blade of grass like me
Dry as dirt
Thin and brittle
Dead as stone
Bending on the earth
What is it the wind whispers?
What is it the sunlight carries?
How they call to me in the whispers of my brothers.
How they call to me from the earth to the heavens.
The earth feels my ache, whispers the wind.
The earth feels my scorch, whispers the sun.
And I am just a dry blade of grass. Listening. Bending. Waiting for what the world may bring me.
Waiting for death.
Waiting on the edge of summer.
Here I am, dear wind, dear heat. Take me to what is next.
For I know nothing in this endless whisper, this waiting, this song.
But I will listen. I promise. I do listen. I do. I will believe.
Ah, summer. I will wait. Here. Now.
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