O Great Creative Power of the Universe —

Maker of hills and hollows,
I praise You in the wide roll of wheat fields
and corn tassels waving
under a sky thick with drifting cloud.

I praise You in rain sweeping across gorges,
and wind combing goldenrod on the hillsides,
in snow’s clean hush
and autumn’s crackle underfoot.

I praise You in the deep green breath of woodlands—
oak and maple leaning over fox tracks,
deer startled into stillness,
rabbits flickering in the underbrush,
chipmunks scribbling quick lines
across fallen leaves.

I praise You in the lakes themselves—
their long glacial spines holding silver light,
perch flashing like coins beneath the ripples,
trout rising to the hover of mayflies,
salmon muscling upstream,
turtles basking on sun-slick stone
while herons lift slow wings from the shore.

I praise You in the orchards heavy with promise—
apple, cherry, and peach
spilling their fragrance into warm dusk.

I praise You in night’s broad curtain of stars,
and morning’s low mist curled into valleys,
in every cloudbank and rainbow’s sudden arc,
in thunder rolling the drumbeat of Your glory.

O God,
let the marvel of Your handiwork
never fade from me—
never grow ordinary,
never pass unnoticed.

Teach me to stand in these fields,
on these shores,
beneath this sky,
and applaud Your creation
with every breath and
for all my days.

Amen.