I pray to be blessed

with a sense of the Sacred

deep inside of stones…

with the feel of the flow of the Holy,

deep in the marrow of my bones.

In the lazy drift of the vulture.

In the flicker of a chickadees flight.

In the frightening screech of a hungry hawk

as he watches his dove-prey bleed.

In the late Autumns gluttonous frenzy

of a squirrel in quest of seed.

In the immovable high Sierras

and the disinterested Sequoia pines.

In the taste on my tongue of wine.

In the unnoticed passing of time.

In the aches and pains of my aging knees.

In my daughters daughters giggle

and her laughter at a joke of mine.

In the grim acceptance of his death

engraved on my Fathers face.

In the tears from my eyes at his dying.

In the touching of my wife

as she sleeps beside me.

In the rolling waves of the sea.