The same breeze that sifts
through the redwood boughs
and flutters the aspen leaves
also lifts a strand of hair from my face,
brushes my cheek and wrist.
What arboreal aerosols
has it lifted on its way
to trace on my skin?
We can’t see what happens underground,
roots and beetles, tinge and seep of water,
the faint white mycorrhizal threads
doing work beyond human imagining.
The power of the barely there
becomes visible in trunk and leaf,
honeysuckle nectar for the bumblebee.
Like the magnetic pulse that tells
wild geese where to fly,
something is calling you
to the place
where your joy meets
your neighbor’s need.
At this crossroads
in the kingdom of enough,
listen to the gull’s cry,
the squawking of crows,
the warbling coo of mourning doves.
Here is the delight of the realm
singing your name.
With gratitude to Frederick Buechner, who wrote, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”
The Kingdom of Enough 