Quietly and without attention nature turns
pushing itself toward sunlight from the darkest places
From the root to the flower each day a perfect miracle
yet not one that could make a Saint
but an every-day-taken-for-granted-kind-of miracle
trod down by those too busy in their moment
If time should halt Gaia would not pay heed
stepping past the unmarked days she would instinctively proceed,
In our stillness will we hear life louder or feel it stronger,
Might its never changing resonance change us?
Beyond this hectic place far from artificial light
The world beckons us out of silence.
Should we emerge unchanged our eyes still blind
Or might we be freed by a miracle we’ve missed?
© Wolfgar 2020