Whoever told you that nature is dead
wasn’t listening
I hear the conversations of trees
the breath of flowers
the creaking wood
rushing steps of tiny mites
navigating the pores in stone
I hear the undulation of the web
matrix evolving
life is motion

Whoever told you that nature is irrelevant
wasn’t listening
We imitate birdsong
emulate ant colonies
follow wild trails
build with earth and ores
heal with plant bodies
drink the sun

Whoever told you that nature is not us
wasn’t listening
these pines comb the same wind
that nourishes my bloodstream
these seeds and fruits give life
to my cells

I am a playful finch
rushing torrent
jagged mountain
wandering insect
mighty Oak Woman
firmly rooted
abundant branches
gently swaying

I. Am. Listening.

© S. Rinderle, 8/3/14
Published in Catching Calliope, Winter 2015.

The Gila

I love a God
who creates hummingbirds
tiny winged jewels
that cause grownups to smile
miniature whimsical sprites
the weight of a copper coin
1200 heartbeats per minute
with no apparent purpose
but to remind us of beauty
the power of stamina
the fragility of life
no apparent purpose
except to delight
we who were born
so the Universe could get to know
we who were fashioned from bone
so someone
could appreciate
the hummingbirds
they who have no apparent purpose
other than joy
and to remind us to be careful
gentle giants
mindful of our powerful hands
and their creations
like God.

© S. Rinderle, 7/19/14