This morning we received the gift of hearing
water falling, over the sandstone rim,
rippling on the intermittent wind.
We stood on the ledge where tiny starshaped flowers
carpet the rock in spring, where now the lichens,
rich in autumn colors, dazzle our eyes.
We listened to the silence punctuated
by the silver song of falling water, elated.
The water spills in syncopated drops
along the seep that rings the u-shaped canyon.
A perfect two-inch baby lizard draws
our eyes away from listening. Sandhill cranes
raise our hearts with songs of ancient asking;
sandstone crawls with baby lizards, basking.