The earth on which we walk is holy ground.
Each step is a pilgrimage of the spirit;
Each footfall is a station of the soul.
Gestures of spring are everywhere:
In the late-lingering frost that coats greening grass;
In the dew that blankets hillside and valley;
In the light that overtakes the night.
Gestures of spring are everywhere:
Even in the cold, we sense the coming warmth;
The rain gives promise of new-budding life;
The flowers can no longer restrain themselves.
The blade of grass with a dot of dew
Is no less wonderful than the farthest star.
There is in everything, pervading all that is,
A mysterious presence.
I cannot speak to it.
I know not the words.
It is no less real.
I only know the earth on which I walk is holy ground.
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