The caw of the jet-black raven,
and gobble of wild turkey,
dripping patina off the hermitage roof.
The black bumblebees buzz
and the green finches flight of flutter,
leaving a trail of syncopated chirps.
The hummingbird’s propeller
lifting to a stationary space,
stopping to stare and smile.
The gecko’s hidden crawl through the grass
and the way the lavender bounces,
springing to reach for the sun.
The blue jay’s repeating squelch,
so annoying,
asking me to surrender and sit.
The bevy of quail,
dressed like Victorian women,
running nervously into the next thicket.
The wisdom of the elder oaks,
covering the red volcanic rock,
keeping the mountain safe and sturdy.
The wind filling us with
the spirit of curiosity and patience,
wrapping itself around us.
This still, silent place
welcomes pilgrims,
praising presence and slowness.
Christopher Huber (2015)