spiritual poetry, nature poetry

The exhalation of God breathes me
and every ordinary thing alive
in my forest view today,
all is divinely ordered,
dramas not here in these woods.
God is in the leaves of Fall,
dropping to the ground as they
release themselves from the larger tree
to rest on the ground.
What's done is done, they have already
fallen and made their mark, each distinctly
red or yellow in the moment
or shaped like a hand or face, lying on
the soft bed we walk on, each loved
equally, as a group they form a mosaic
of patterns shaped by oak and maple leaves,
small red bushes, a host of other live
plants and creatures walk too.
All are part of the carpet of the whole,
the ceiling of sky, the walls of shade,
the slant light of the sun.