The morning is soft and cool,
slowly giving way to a winter sun
who wanders lower in the sky,
his soft shoe northern shuffle
still warming our turned backs
as we dig for stones and sand
at a place I once was sure
could not be holy.

Familiarity is seeping in
to all my hard places,
even the gravel has become
something to play with, something
to put in the back of a toy bike
and deliver to that auntie
at the next table, who pretends
sincerely
to pay for it with yet other stones
as all my certainty evaporates
like sea mist.

Surely in this is a sign
for one who reflects.

The bumper sticker on the way
back home reads, "May God bless you",
and the leaves are already singing
with afternoon light painting the shape
of passing breeze and all
I can whisper is "greater, greater"
though, good God, I cannot imagine
greater than this.