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.

– Rumi