We sat in a circle
Listening for the echoes of grace within
For a while nothing seemed to be happening
The sun fell on our faces
Faint noises filtered from outside
No one spoke
Faint noises filtered from outside
No one spoke
Our minds reached across memory's landscape
Ranging over hedges, fields and meadows
Returning to the hive with beads of sticky wisdom
And then like a snowfall at night
The silence settled around us in deepening drifts
And rose to fill the space between us with a rich presence
Afterwards we shook hands
And bought jars of wild honey
From the bees that live in the Quaker cemetery
No comments:
Post a Comment