I went out this morning
with no great purpose
other than letting the warm air
carry me where it pleased.

The sun, like a kind hand,
rested on the shoulders of the field.
Every blade of grass
seemed to whisper thank you.

I stopped where the wildflowers
had flung themselves open,
their bright faces turned upward,
as if they, too, had been astonished
by such light.

The gold swung on a thistle,
the pond spoke its small, glad song.
I thought none of this is owed to me.
Yet here it is,
freely given.

And wasn’t that always the way with God?
No cost, no debt,
just the wide blue sky,
just the birds hunting for berries,
just the soft rustle of the breeze
through the trees.

I stood there a long while,
trying to conjure a way to say
thank you
so He might know
the depth of my gratitude.