Prayer

This poem is about gratitude.

I no longer rise with a sense of imperative
but with a generosity of time
more precious than any treasure.

I gaze across hills, woods and fields
to distant horizon lines
between the known and unknown.

I find solace in my wild garden
where humanity and the divine meet
in this small strip of heaven-

Where miniature dragons paw through pond plants
and a quabble of crustaceans live in the leaf litter
circling a city of pots: Granny Grey, Wood Pig, Sow Bug.

I don’t pray
But I do know how to seek that which nourishes and softens a heart.
How to brim with awe and gratitude,
be immersed in reverence
by just watching and listening.

Every morning I wake up grateful for the simple, joyful life I have. I think about how my mother worked in a job she hated and was so careful with her money, leaving me a small inheritance. This has enabled me to stop working as an Occupational Therapist, a job I was good at and found rewarding, but handling the toxic behaviour of work colleagues became intolerable for me. My mom would be so pleased that I’m happy and loving life.