Christ, our God, to Thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise:
For the small, warm hollow of my baby’s neck
For hot pink beets dug fresh from the cool earth
For a living blaze of orange in the farmer’s field
For spiced tea and flavourful conversation
For flannel sheets flying high on the line
For the scent of the forest floor as children crush leaves underfoot
For neighbours’ fires rising like incense in the dawn
For the table, hand-hewn strong, to carry these armfuls of thanks
~lg
S.D.G.
