In the Season of Creation we take time to stand and stare, lest we miss the awesome wonder. The heavens are telling the glory and the Earth is birthing the invisible. We stand in the environment of mystical beauty and wherever we turn there is the face of God. Let us stand and behold the holy ground of our being.
Lost
Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
David Wagoner
From Collected Poems 1956 – 1976 © Indiana University Press
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