My sanctuary has thousands of birch leaves rustling softly,
And wind song.
My sanctuary has ancient apple trees,
Extending arms full of tiny green apples.
There are dappled pools of sunlight,
Flecked with black-eyed Susan, field daisies,
And tall grasses whose seed heads dance.
I do not need to pray in my sanctuary;
My sanctuary is a prayer,
Where ever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you sanctuary and belonging.