Walking over the fields to Quaker Meeting

Striding across frozen furrows
and iced-over bootprint puddles
shot through with interweaving shatterings of frost
I quickly reach the hedgerow brow
of this gently yawning swell of fields
and instantly my Christian heart
yields to the well-trod pagan glory
of this late November dawn

And earthy Hallelujahs now rumble and tumble through me
as the seesaw of the rising sun and the setting moon
fulcrums through the perineum
of my pantheistic soul