July Fourteenth, Two Thousand And Nine

It's summer here and so hot, so very hot and the air
Is like five hot bags of wet cement, always pressing down on your head, your chest,
Making your legs and arms so heavy.
And wet, oh, it's wet and because of that, the trees are so very green.
Green is everywhere but it's getting a little tired
Not the sweet, fresh here-I-am! green of spring but the
Wearier, more practiced, fully operational green of hot summer days
And the cicadas sing and the crickets pulse at night
Like maybe they are the heartbeat of the world
Or at least of this part of it, rising/falling, swelling/diminishing
A heart-beat, lovers' movements, tides of water rising and falling
It's all the same.
It is all the rhythm we live by whether we know it or not
Whether we listen or not
Whether we pay attention or not.
The rise and fall of breath and our concentration on it can lead us to a sort of
Non-state of spiritual being
So concentrate on the crickets if you get the chance. I think that's what I'm saying.

I walk and there are dog fennel and cat tails and wild
Morning glory, passion flower, Devil's needle, Swamp Mallow, Blackberry,
And when I stop to squat and pee in the woods, I see I am right beside a Beauty Berry
The berries just forming, tight, hard, and green, soon to be the sort of mauve
I hope to wear in heaven.
Beauty Berry, indeed.
You cannot eat them but you can bring them home and put them in a vase
Of a color of your choosing. I suggest that sort of light seafoam green myself.

This morning I walked down to the creek
The No Trespassing Sign has disappeared which was sign enough for me to go
Down that path and into the woods where I always think
They'd never find me if I disappeared here by snake or crazy person or wild cat or bear
Or allergic reaction.
Never. And then I think,
Oh well.

The creek is running slowly and is small in its sandy banks right now
And as brown and clear as iced tea
And indeed it is a tea, leaves brewed in its water as it flows.
Oaks and pines and cedars hang over it, grow beside it
And I thought to myself that if I lived by a real river of majesty and wonder
I couldn't bear the beauty
This small creek almost does me in
As it runs all by itself, no one to see it but me.

I walked home and almost stopped at the little church
Mt. Zion MB Baptist Church of Lloyd
A little golden/beige cinder block affair
Where I have seen musicians walk in with basses and guitars
On Sunday mornings
And ladies wear hats the color of Beauty Berries sometimes.
I've never attended services and I don't know why.
They would welcome me, despite my pale skin, my lack of a
Beauty Berry hat.
I know they would.
And unbeknownst to them, I sometimes stop behind the church
And use the hose to cool my face before I do the last leg of my walk
That final walk down Main Street here in Lloyd.
They give me holy water of life without knowing it, and I need to slip
A little money into an envelope and push it under the door someday
With a note saying, "Thank-you for the cool living water you have provided me."
They would wonder about that but isn't wonder what we seek in church anyway?

Well, some of us do.
I seek it in the woods and along the paths and roads
The shade of the pine trees, the majesty of the oak trees
The butterflies sipping from the flower of their own season
The turtle on the side of the road who, when he sees me coming
Slips so quickly into his den that he belies the myth that turtles move slowly.

It's all wonder to me, every day.
Even the days I am in despair
Wonder because I can move my body
Through this hot, wet air
And the wild grapes are forming, making sugar of sun
Making skin and seeds, draped over fences and branches
And there is so much life I cannot begin to list it all
But I say to myself
Dog fennel, cat tails, pine tree, live oak, swamp mallow
Passion flower, Devil's needle, morning glory
Beauty berry
Beauty berry
Beauty berry
As I walk, as I breathe, as the crickets and cicadas
Keep the heart beat of the rhythm of the summer of this year
As I walk, as I chant, as I pray with my breath
My eyes
My ears
As I give praise with my words, my wonder, my giving it all up
And I surrender to the heat and the air and the rhythm
Of it all as I walk to the rhythm of it all.