Isn’t it a miracle
how the dew collects in the cradle of leaves,
how light flutters across the morning
like a thousand whispered prayers?

I walk the path,
and each step is holy—

          the earth beneath my feet hums its hymn,
older than time,
yet as new as the breath I take.

Do not lose the wonder
of the finch’s flight,
or the silent sermon
of a cloud resting in the sky—

          both are crafted from His hands.

Even the smallest stone,
touched by rain,
knows the secret of being—

          a truth whispered
from Creator to creation.

And I, a mere breath in the wind,
am part of it all,
unworthily gifted
by His infinite grace.

Thank You Lord!