I have searched for You
in the green certainty of spring,
in summer’s long, unhurried light,
and found You quieter than I expected.

Autumn teaches me Your nearness
in things I must learn to release:
the fuzzy cat tail, the warmth, the illusion
that anything was ever mine to keep.

You are there too,
beneath the silence,
holding what I cannot see.

In faith,
I trust that You are present
not only in what blooms,
but in what withers,
not only in beginnings,
but in every holy ending.