These things we love:  leaves in color, the night sky, ideas that prove true.  Some days it is enough just to be here.  Roll down the hill one more time.  No one will know.  First take off your glasses.  Leaves stuck everywhere.  Cry out.  Even here we find God.  When being here is enough.  When we are not wrestling with death, not asking why, not needing more.  But more is holy too.

How does God speak in our days?  Days of hard work and troubled sleep.  Is it enough?  Will I make it?  Got to push harder.  Walk faster.  The aloneness takes over and others pass like shadows over the water.  A leaf blows to my lips and I spit it out.

Our cities.  Our science.  Our laws.  Everywhere we find the work of our hands. Our presence is exhausting.  It would be good just once to find someone else here.  To follow beauty to its source.  To recognize your goodness in the order of things.

You never quit trying.  Smug with success we run into some idea that turns our impudent order upside down.  A new understanding is born.  From our chastened hearts, we hear your laughter.