During days I once slowed to listen for
hidden sounds, to take in contrast of
chaos against calm, pressing needs against what simply is
without me, things for which I’ve no responsibility.

I’d trained myself to find the ground in
small noises, that sudden hush when
mind and hands stop
to hear and see now.

Faucet drips into soaking pot, ceiling fan whirs, here I am
ears, heart open,
God speak.

This day I return from taking kids to school
and choose against music again,
so as not to drown out the undercurrent,
baby cry, crow squawk, squirrel feet in drying leaves, plane overhead,
power tool, car passing, mailbox lid clanging

I listen from within quiet’s folds, where life keeps
living, and I routinely hear the exhale of
breath through my own nose,
soft scrape of feet against hardwoods,
almost as if I listened closely enough
I could hear the beating of my own heart,
God speak.

Linking with Lisha and Kelli‘s communities.

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