This is how I do Shuvah:
Breathe. Sync with September’s slow breeze.
Squeeze laundry before hanging. Water a ring of clover round the line.
Move pegs softly. Break webs when necessary.
Stand still when chipmunks scamper. Let them fetch acorns.
Gather ten witnesses: honeybees, crunchy maple leaves, toadstools.
Apologize to the earth for my car in the driveway, the power line linking homes,
styrofoam cup from the drive-through.
Listen to the mid-afternoon silence. New beginnings
come in the tired buzz of late cicadas, tread of bare feet,
whispered rustle of swaying grass.