Feet bounce over cloud-grey concrete;
The morning ritual has begun.
Giving them the rhythm of my habitual soundtrack,
I’m lulled into my tiny, selfish circles.
Whatever is true, whatever is noble…
I raise my eyes from running feet to running river,
To panting breeze, to energetic sun, to intrepid shores.
They say God wrote us two love-letters:
The Bible and nature.
In a surprise leap, the Missouri River banks transform before my eyes
Into the raging Cliffs of Mohr, then the lay skirts of the Potomac,
And finally, the lapping shores of Cotton Lake.
Oh God, who makes the mountains melt…
Come wrestle us and win.
Surely the Beckoner of the breezes mingles sands and stones into one;
Nature’s natural innocence is more easily redeemed than ours.
But wait! Friend, look at me again with your ocean eyes.
I think He wrote three.