“Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher” ~ William Wordsworth
The middle of the day speaks to me, and why shouldn’t it when I live so close to untamed country. Trespassing seems more like a divine invitation than a sin, so I jump the fence (again) and run. My heart races as I dodge bleached bones of a cow in rightly order, ruts carved in the dusty path, and wayward wire among the valley’s native grass. I run until I reach the dry creek bed, and before the machine shop dogs catch wind of me I turn back. Alone on this hoof-beaten path, I power over mounds of earth, going up, then down, before I’m taken by surprise by such an indescribable moment, that I hesitate before repeating It here. Some might call it a teaching, while others need convincing that a passionate warmth spreading over me is any kind of instruction at all.
Anyway, I stopped–
out of reverence for a holy consumption of me and the land, while everything faded to a weightless white. For a moment I thought I was being raptured through this personal bathing, right there in my sweaty socks among the sprigs of grass!
and He smiled on me,
a white wheat at harvest time,
spellbound in His field