I raise my hands to you.
Pick me up and carry me.
Hold me close enough to feel your heart
Enfold me in the safety of your arms
Lift me up so that I can see
And let me rest my head upon your shoulder.
This raising of my hands
is my offering of praise
This bowing of my head
my only act of worship.
Saint Louis Art Museum
They tell me fire is a part of nature
that this will bring wildflowers in the spring,
low blueberry bushes in the summer,
that it will open the seeds in pine cones
to grow to be habitat for warblers.
They tell me this will bring color and life and song
but all I see is ash and charred stumps
I hear the wind sweeping dust into piles
as my eyes water from the smoke
and I choke on my own breath.
I see no beauty yet.
I feel only ruins.
