A Generous Liberty

A morning walk beneath the spattered light
and shadow of sun-splashed leaves swaying
and dancing, brushed by breezes rushing
through the deepening woods. Sweet waves
of green ebb and flow. The birds sing me on,
skittering, and chipmunks chittering; fluttering
butterflies and whirring-winged dragonflies dart
across my path, and through the trees, columns
of infant corn are evenly rising in farmers’ fields.

I rest on an ancient bench, the pew in my green
chapel where worry spills and all the anxious fears
release. It opens you wide, the world’s wild beauty;
it bares your soul to all others, each thing here and
utterly significant, freely itself, entitled to its time and
place and way of being. There is a generous liberty
evident in nature, and I do not miss the world of men
where, in halls of power, those who’ve sworn oaths
to freedom say they must debate to whom it’s owed.

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