Meeting for Worship Under the Trees

If you asked who’s presiding,
I’d point to the birds,

Or why no one’s singing,
I’d reply, “Just listen.”

A distant rooster
Sounds the call to worship,

As I settle on a blanket
Instead of a pew.

Miniature spiders, ants of all sizes
Are among the congregants.

Too still for you? Wait
For the cicadas’ raucous homily.

A subtle incense
Wafts from the wildflowers,

As the breeze
Makes the Presence felt.

Some prefer stained glass, an organ,
But I call this worship.