Blue sky, and clouds like white tufts, a day that opens its mouth to swallow us whole, with shadows of greens at our feet, where whispers of grass hum in unison.

The weight of sunlight pulls toward the soft, draping on the grass strands, like words dropped gently toward hidden lakes.

The petals of daisies stretch and unfold, revealing joy, spilling tips, like laughter under laughter. There’s a hymn sung by crickets stitched into each auburn dusk.

It is the stillness, it is the living voice, and in that moment, we become part of a melody weaves together, alive.

• Muriel Rukeyser