There I was
filling every pocket
of my lungs
giving thanks and praise.
I squatted
to stretch my thighs
toes, soles,
Achilles'
and just then noticed the bees,
then the flowers
and their interaction
made volumes of thought
as I turned home.
I reached long
into the shrubs --
and into my mind, simultaneously --
concluding that Nature is a way
unto itself.
Then I asked,
feeling momentarily noble,
or superstitious,
if I am indeed welcome
to snatch a grip of flowers
from the shrub.
I name not to whom or what the question was cast.
Less subtle than their scent
as I now write
is the sensation no organ
but Being itself perceives:
blessed,
in a word.
