MIRACLES I SEE

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know nothing else but miracles
WetherI walk the streets of Nairobi
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses towards the sky
Or walk with naked feet at the beach
Or stand under trees in the park
Or talk by day with any one I love...
Or sit at the table for supper with my family
Or look at strangers beside me in a matatu
or watch wasps building a home on my ceiling


Or animals feeding in the fields
Or birds circling in the sky
Or the marvel which is sundown, or the stars, shiny, so quiet and bright
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the moon.
Or simply reading a book!
These with the rest, one and all, are miracles.
Each distinct and in its place


To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same
And every foot of the earth's interior is spread with the same

To me the sea is a continual miracle
The fishes that, swim, the rocks,
The motion of the waves, the boats, ferries with people
The salty smell of the sea!
What stranger miracles are there?
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