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A Sabbath, or why forgiveness changes all things

 

There aren’t many places left
wherein man can hear the sound
of nothing; the unimpeded voice
of nature, the place where man
has left no mark: no highways
or telephone wires, no shopping malls
or concrete scars. There aren’t many
places left where things are beautiful
simply because they are and do
and remain.

The grass is tall now and little yellow
flowers are popping up in clusters, the
bees buzzing about them and around them,
the two sharing one another and surviving.
The trees finally have bloomed and are now
home to young birds and squirrels who
playfully rustle in the foliage of thickets.
Spring comes early in the south, earlier
than Iowa at least. But’s it only recently
that the world hs finally come awake
and begun to sing its lovely songs.

How am I to respond? To this
new life, this melody of season.
Ought I to speak with it? Perhaps
I ought to walk about and play.
Nay, forgiveness has surely taught
me the art of stillness and silence.
For there aren’t many places left
wherein man can hear the sound
of nothing.

~DK

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