I haven’t written a poem since the year I fell in love with my wife. That was 17 years ago. But on a Friday evening in May, I watched as the night descended, and Siri and I wrote a poem together.
It’s about how rarely we slow down to notice what is right in front of us.
It’s about how we celebrate the light, but the rest of creation embraces the dark, as well.
It’s about how we search everywhere for God, but the truth is, we don’t need to be looking more widely, we just need to be looking more closely.
On this first full day of summer, it seemed like a good time to share it with you. May this be a season in which you watch the world around you more closely, the world within you more tenderly, and may you glimpse ever more clearly your deepest, truest, worthiest, most loveable self…
Have you noticed how slowly the sun sets
when you are a still, steady witness?
Have you watched as the shadows succumb
to their inexorable lengthening?
Have you listened to birds sing as optimistically at the dawning of the night
as they do at the dawning of the light?
The sun rises every day, and we celebrate;
yet, how rarely do we marvel at the moonrise?
The air cools
amongst the deepening hues
and God watches
from behind a tree,
wondering who will notice.
He hides, it seems,
and we seek.
Except there is no hiding.
I see him.
In the slow-slipping sun
and the long shadows
and the birdsong
and the moonrise.
And the dark.
I see him.
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