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You look up from a rut, or a
pattern, and you notice the
beauty of a tree.

It feels good, the neck stretched
like branches, the blue of sky
broken by leaves, you douse
it all with your hose,

the sparkle of the tree!

We aren’t the only ones here.

Humans are one of many
living things that give the LORD
cheer.  The atheist closes the book,
let’s try to gather—don’t go!

Call great feelings and inspiration
any other name you choose.

What makes you smile?

Ahh, that’s it!  That’s what I
get when I pray to a higher power,
when I let go perceived control,
and know I am not in charge
nor able to secure results.

I can try and try; then I can
live or die—all a choice in the
garden that is life!

I “choose life,” to recall a Scottish
film with a guy named Ren,
who was hooked on death to
avoid the day to day of what
others did.

I choose poems!

I choose art, then go out and
admire God’s.  Yes, God’s—
the name I call the “Whatever
it is, I didn’t make it but it’s kinda’
good!”

Call it Jehovah!  Call it Nothing!

Call your best feelings your best
feelings, let go of the hate that
broods for long enough to consider
the tree that leans into the
sun, never judges, accepts and
hopes for the best.

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