In an Old Notebook

Eventually I'll post about Prague. Until then, here's this to tide you over. I found this written in a notebook I've not used in about a year, and from what's written I think it was written at the leaders' retreat at Aguas Vivas camp in April of 2005. I love my bad poetry, so you all get to indulge me today.

To squint into the sun
until the jagged black outlines of the mountains come into focus
To turn my eyes
from the intense light, only to see it reflected, golden warm,
on a thick bed of pine needles
To hear nothing
but the conversation of birds
the buzzzing of flies
the laughter of children, somewhere out of sight
To make a bed in those pine needles, lean agains a tree
and listen...
to the wind
echoing from rock to rock
loud, then soft,
then loud again
To feel it move through my hair and my eyelashes,
over my face
Blending warm and sweet with the sun
and the fresh, earthy smell of the pine needles
To sing to God
and to hear HIM sing back
in color
in smell
in wind
in the conversation of birds
To pray
This is to pray.