Land-Owner's Prayer

Lord, these oak woods are more beautiful than anything they’ve built with stucco and wrought-iron on the hill’s opposing side. I’d love to live here, Lord, among your grasses. But I wince at every shovel-stroke. I know the first fence circumscribes the grace of summer-tide. Who keeps a gate on Nature? The frogs that swell their song at evening, or the breeze in pines? Every night, Earth twists beneath us. Lord, with us abide.