Presence

O' cry my soul,
for years of laughter gone,
as a granite cliff collapses
over a mountain road,
forbidding passage to bubbling brooks,
glorious horizons, and fertile meadows above.
There will be no crops this year.

O' cry my soul,
yes, weep stinging, salty tears,
that the rocks may erode
as I sit on my stone,
and wait.
From under the stone
a cricket crawls, looks at me,
and hops into his newly found fortress.

Below a sparrow flies its song
above the fading echo of fallen rock
in the frost-filled forest below.
I look up to see the sun setting
on the near ridge,
changing the suspended sky water
from blue to gold.

And the crickets and cicadas
rise with the crescent, silver moon
to begin their symphonic prelude of
sadness and solitude, pain and patience,
tragedy and triumph.

Now present I, amidst the strings,
hear the rumbling bass of the river below,
miles downstream of a bubbling brook.
How unaware of it I was hours ago,
in my hurry up the winding way.

It's a different movement I hear now,
more thunderous than I expected,
fuller of emotion and sounds,
had my way not been blocked,
had I seen and heard
a smaller stream.

O' laugh my soul,
for lessons learned,
and momentary awareness gained,
amidst tumbling rocks.

I hoist my bag
and find my way down
to the river below,
aware of and thankful to
the God of mystery,
unexpected turns,
and the music as I go.