I wake and all is silent. I read Mary Oliver’s poem “When Death Comes” and then these words of Thomas Merton:

Let me seek then, the gift of silence and solitude, where everything I touch is turned into a prayer: where the sky is my prayer, the birds are my prayer, the wind in the trees is my prayer.

Emily Dickinson now comes to body and mind.  

To live is so startling that it leaves little time for anything else.

Guidance arrives and settles – lands, flows, flies.

Rain brings water to the mountain. The creek rises and flows, then lifts.

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