I went out tonight after church-choir
And was alone in the company
Of Wilder-ness and our Maker.
Out, off of the beaten paths below
Out of the reach of well-worn worries.
I was on the Ridge with the darkness,
Looking out from the top of the world,
Out, over the valley, and into the city—
Lights tracing below, stars unmoved above,
And the cadence of katydids surrounding:
Theirs a vivescent hum,
A pitching, droning, a drumming.
The air inhales and out again.
As Life sounds, and smells
Tangibly, overwhelmingly, here.
“Who?” begs the bard or Socratic,
His lone voice undrowned in chorus.
Yet soloist meets accompaniment—
Amidst the uncut undergrowth
As the breezes rush and…
Again try breathing praise.
And my collar was grabbed
As a Northward gust
Met a Southerner from the West.
Moved, yet, I am unmoving now,
Considering man, Unmindful.
Watching planes ever so aimlessly
Etch their ways in every-which-way,
Just as we all do on summer days—
Making distance from Home,
And all the Who’s housed there.
I am a mile from my house
Or my parents’, but Home?
How’s Home-land ever been
Less our Fathers worked it?
Yet we move on, often far off—
Searching for places
That cultivate Ridge-like moments
And life goes on;
Fast and –er, and –est.
Train whistles and rubber to asphalt
Interrupt. Or compliment?
From this Vantage, sound travels
Manmade breaks into the natural ambience.
Motors make noise—
Trails diverge, hapless,
Into yellowing woods.
People like leaves wrinkle with age,
Which of these leave
With legacies saved?
Yet I listen,
Amidst grand motion,
Swept, and incapable of leaving
Heaven leans down here,
And must carry me away.
In the hourglass sand.
When shrugging at the years’ retreat,
Destiny becomes a dance,
Set to Solomon’s songs.