image from betterlifeawareness.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We call it miraculous when a spider spins her silk from nothing, when the salmon remembers the taste of its birth river after years of salt. The priest says faith but the maple knows better: its roots drink darkness while its fingers clutch light, turning air into sugar~ a green chemisty we call ordinary And you, with your body’s quiet insistence on healing~ the way your scars bloom softer than the wound, how your laughter still arrives, unexpected, like a telegram from the dead. Miracle is just the word we give to things we’ve forgotten how to do.
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