What is it about a mountain meadow?
Is it its spaciousness
Sent out like an invitation
For the weary to rest
For cluttered minds
To have worries dance away
Upon the breeze?
Is it the way surrounding cliffs
Become strong arms embracing
And soft soils
Become God's lap
In which to nestle?
Or is it the gathering of flowers
Like friends old and new
Many whose names I recall
Others I've inquired of
But soon forgot
Like church people I have greeted
Week after week
We've exchanged stories
About our lives
Cheered one another on
It would seem silly now to ask
"What's your name?"
Too much has been shared
So we just keep visiting anyway
The purple grasses
Responding to the wind's caresses
Delight my eyes
Tickle my hopes
Wide sky tears open
The curtain of my soul
Beyond which lie
Dreams forgotten
But still alive
Still
Now
Very much alive
A granite boulder
Like a custom piece of furniture
Saying, "I was made just for you!"
Beckons me off the trail
Against it I lean
Into this moment
With abandon
My mind not comprehending
And ceasing to try
Perhaps its glory
Is not for me to understand
I conclude
But to stand under
Body reclined
Heart inclined
I rest
Here
Sinking into the goodness of the meadow
While the goodness of the meadow
Sinks into me.
Diane Mann, 2015
