There's something about... a farm

Grass blowing.  Trees swaying.  Hanging leaves wandering into the sun, unhindered by pruning and city-block-shaping.  Space.  Fields of green, peaking up from brown cracked dirt.  Paths through tall grass, just because.  Fruit trees storing up energy for ripe deliciousness in the fall.  I could eat this up, store leftovers in a box for later.  Wish for this space in life.  In the midst     of life.

I step outside, and I see stars, millions of stars.  Grass covering fields.  Frogs that live and breathe and fish that swim and eat and birds that fly and find worms and feed their babies and flowers in all their glory that could only be created, sustained, made.  And these things live and these things die.  And they are amazing.  And God has touched each one, put His finger, His creative touch, His glory into each creature, calling out it's name.  Speaking it into existence.  Speaking. into me.

And I drink deeply of the air, of fresh fields turned over, of blue skies hazy with clouds and sunshine streaming and white stone drives.  I breathe out frustration and unmet expectations and control over details and I know it's ok.  There's space enough for it all.  They fly away, into soaring space that has no limit, into the sky that breathes and sustains and gives life and provides food for trees and leaves and everything green.  And the wind swirls around me and whispers, "be still.  I am here."