For the chainsaws, the unwanted machines.
For the cow's jurassic bellows.
Divine Love for the chaos.
For Divine Love is in it too.
For the transient silence.
For the birdsong.
For the chipmunk chatter.
Divine Love is the sun on my back.
Is the piling of timber,
And the engines resuming their attack.
Is the pine bowing over my body,
Ushering me into this not-knowing phase.
Is the intuition to stay.
To let grace into this place.