I stand in the shadow of giants
humbled, daily,
by what this earth can do.

They rise, one after the other,
a procession of elders
who's refuge I enjoy, both cautiously
and peacefully.

I thank the earth for its gifts,
receding quietly into it
and away from its people.

Flowers are less beautiful than your hand
softly in mine, though I find myself planted
firmly to the ground
each time I pass under cherry blossoms.

That the smell of rain on a spring morning
draws me out of your arms and into
my early morning walks is only a means of
understanding you as a part of the whole.

You will always be
the first and last most beautiful thing
I will ever see.