The tiny frogs bellowed
instinctively.
The salamander paused.
The mosquito assessed
possibility.

I, the stranger, had returned.

The rock that welcomed
my resting
was clean and waiting.
The brightness
of darting chipmunks dimmed,
the dragonfly buzzing suspended,
as my notes began
to wail.

The birds (there were many),
the chickadees,
the sparrows,
the robins,
and …me…
a visitor to a singing
tribe
meant for observation.

How we sang together,
back and forth
as my brokenness called
in great,
bellowing,
thrusting notes
that spun gold
around nature’s sopranic rhythms.

Here,
I am only a visitor with bare feet
and a cracker pack in my pocket.
They are only creatures with wildness untamed.
We are only sharing communion when our church is closed.