7:49 PM

Aaaand the retreat begins.

First there must be

a withdrawal from all

to which I have become

accustomed and addicted, including:

* responding to others' needs

* writing to speak to those needs

* sucking worth out of those responses

There's a crow in a tree

about 100 feet from the front window.

He's been calling for the past hour,

as I finished some work.

As soon as I settled,

he stopped. I'm pretty sure

that's God, patiently, plaintively cawing.

Now I hear the dogs (coyotes?)

begin their sunset song.

But only for a few minutes.

Then a sacred silence floats in.

The trees dance their green at me,

as the wind pulses its ever-erratic rhythm

through their nimble extremities.

The sky's once-dense rain-fog

returns to a steamy afternoon blue,

only to succumb to dusk's pink ribbons.

As the colors fade into evening's gray,

the lightning bugs begin their survival-flash,

conjuring progeny into the fading light.

All through the dimming,

I hear the wind say - for the first time

since I-don't-know-when -

"I sing this song for you every day,

not for you to YouTube it

for someone else, but for your pleasure;

for no other purpose than

your soaking-up the unconditionality

of my grace poured

into evening's sky for pure joy."

Surely but steadily, all of the ego

and pettiness with which my world

has been surrounded begin

to fade with the sun's sinking.

The stillness of holy darkness

gently blows her peace

through the open screens.

I know that I could breathe

like this forever.

Maybe I will.

© 2014 Todd Jenkins