Praise you, Lord of the Flowers

Make me your doula, Lord, birthing your words out of the earth.

From the seeds and the seedlings and the sharings you have placed trustingly into my hands and into the gathering beaks of birds.

From here, from near, from mountain peaks and coasts and far lands.

From whence you will speak to us in living colors when you are ready.

Your utterances unfolding, blooming, dancing until they wilt in the sun, the wind, the sky’s tears.

My eyes will hear, taking the message of your blossoms to heart, to store, to sustain me and my fellow humans in the gloom of winter.

Praise you, Lord of the Flowers!

N. Wilynn Thomas

7-7-20