Of course you feel small.
Look around you.
You are small.
How the sky
and the cliffs
and the trees
rise above you.
Even the bulge
of dark wheat dough
rising in the bowl
is moved
by something
much larger
than you,
though that something
moves you,
too.
Tell yourself
you can walk
and walk and
never stop, and
in the walking
become an expression
of the same movement
that pulls the gluten,
that swells the trees,
that greens the leaves,
that flies the seed
that tumbles the cliffs,
that spreads the milk of the clouds,
that twirls the earth,
that spirals this very small
galaxy and pushes
this inconceivable universe
past its own boundaries.
You are small,
and
infinite is
this inside
you, glorious
surging.