Hymn of Dawn

Hymn of Dawn

January 18, 2015

Stretching upward, a choir of dark feathered branches

fills the pale aqua hovering above the lightening peach

that breaks from the smouldering umber

mountain silhouette horizon beyond my window.

Dawn: the trees in celebration reach their paintbrush-bristles upward

stretching toward heaven, branching, forever branching

from branch to limb, from trunk, from tree, from ground

from root from soil, spilling toward heaven in echoes of praise;

eternal earthy jubilance to the One Life-Giver

their wooded fingers splayed like mine.

I stand at the window and see how like they are to my body-

these trees, my arms, my hands. Woody boughs appear soft

like paintbrushes gently swaying, painting, wafting up their work,

giving back what they’ve taken in- the supreme nourishment

from sky to leaf to soil to man and to God back again

in praise in the morning before we rise, a glorious song of joy,

an exuberant psalm of being; a psalm of holy living.

Softly singing are the utmost branches, upward raised at the dawn

of day, to join the chorus of the birds aloft.

I raise my arms, my hands in thankful praise and join their hymn.

Shock of golden sun bursts forth emblazoning everything, warming all

in the joyful voice of the One who hears and is made glad.

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn on Neebish Island, Michigan overlooking the St. Mary River

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