Hey

This is a poem I love by Rumi, a great 13th century poet:

The grass beneath a tree is content and silent.

A squirrel holds an acorn in its praying hands,
offering thanks, it looks like.

The nut tastes sweet; I bet the prayer spiced it up somehow.

The broken shells fall on the grass,
and the grass looks up and says, "Hey."

And the squirrel looks down and says, "Hey."

I have been saying "Hey" lately too, to God.

Formalities just weren't working.