The earth wants to see you: not to be seen, but to imagine that you take ground on its surface.

To see is to listen not to the cries of birds, but to their wings. To feel each renewed hour, as if gratitude laid down seeds in our bones. And all creatures serve your astonishment.

Standing in the field of sun, The ways take time to reach the hidden places. I tell you, listen closer, hold the scented air.

The embrace of earth in your outstretched arms opens horizons, sparks our landscape anew. Hold grace like shadows of trees, we live.

These roads move toward you, where tomorrows break with chandeliers of light. Rukeyser’s fingers beckon nature into words, writing beauty across the paths within.

• Muriel Rukeyser