I look out through the rain
to see the way
that things are here,
to feel the exclamation of their presence –
each leaf, each cell, comprised of an intelligence
that fractal-spirals deep, the more I look

This tree, still young by estimation
of others, between whom it rises –
the aspiration of its yearly growth,
the buds that punctuate its branch tips

This tree, though one of many others,
can be enough to show me present Spirit,
of which everything is made,
in which everything exists.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 23, 2020