This being a sunny day in June, a love poem for the summer.
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A rather mysterious set of lines that emerged.
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O the many walks I have taken in the Jerusalem hills, up and down in a widening arc from the city going west towards the coastal plain.
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WildWords – Trembling Leaves

It begins in obscurity,
in the graying of the light,
when the lilac leaves tremble
one by one,
like tiny green drums
kissed by wet hands.

I watch them
and know something of prayer:
not certainty,
not brightness,
not the approaching thunder of answer,
but this—
the dimming light,
the damp touch,
the fragile rhythm
of what remains alive
even when the whole world
seems to fade
at the edges.

And I,
quiet as the darkening earth,
learn again
that creation often prays
before it weeps,

that the body trembles
before the sorrow comes,
that even fear
can be a kind of listening

when the world wans
and the leaves begin
their soft percussion
under the subtle caress of rain.

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Something that came early this morning.
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Doing things when you are not yourself, not alone but lost, maybe for a couple, a group of people, a tribe or nation...
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