Love Is Enough

If there were no other reason to sleep under a tree on a summer day than to wake up with leaves drifting down on you like sighs, it would be enough.  The leaves rustle.

If there were no other reason to bury your legs in warm sand at the beach than to watch your knees emerge with dust clinging to the hairs, it would be enough.  The hairs prickle.

If there were no other reason to speak in a hushed cathedral than to hear your voice echoing up into the far reaches of the ceiling until the angels resting on the corbels stir and throw blessings down on you, it would be enough.  The blessings touch quietly your heart.

Where is wonder on a day when the wind is ruffling the flowers, shimmering on the surfaces of time and distance?  Where is mystery when the nighttime dream commences and blue surrounds you like a soft cloak?

Within the arms of love we are carried aloft on the uprising air until we can either breathe or laugh, then drift like golden organza, away softly.

Delight spins with a light soft skirt on pointed toes and beckons with a small curled finger.  I am told:

Cease your worry and concern for now.  Summon love and dispense with doubt and calamity.

Watch the play of light and the moments in between.  For there exists peace and the meaning of life and, truly, love.  Love uplifts and heals, soothes, caresses even you who are lonely and tired.

If there were no other reason to love and notice love than to touch your ennervated fingertip against that of God's outstretched, that would be enough.