It is a glorious summer morning. Cooler, finally, after the recent relentless heat wave, but still summer-warm without a tinge of humidity. Birdsong fills the branches around me to overflowing; cicadas razor the gentle breeze. The air is almost unbearably sweet: I cannot breathe deeply enough. A golden swallowtail butterfly alights spread-winged, high amidst the green of the tree before me, and remains there, to be admired.
The children are at church day camp – so excited at the prospects surveyed merely from the classroom doorways this first morning that Dad didn’t even receive a backward glance at drop off. I pull up a chair in our backyard in a rare moment of peace and calm and well, a state so alien to parenting small children – solitude. Psalm 118 stretches out invitingly before me on the page. I smile at the aptness – one of Scripture’s greatest gifts.
“This is the day the Lord has made;
Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
I sit and breathe and then begin to write. May our words, and our work today reflect this gladness.
And so as the poppy-bright cardinal serenades me from the top of my maple tree, only a few brazen feet away, I join his song. And share another poem below with you.
In the morning, and at the close of day, Praise Him.
Bright to Behold
These are the days, bright to behold,
that feed us into the long cold nights;
the moments for which you would give
for a mere handful
to keep in your soul’s pockets.
A simmering day drops to tepid night
heralding the soft rain to come
at close of eyes.
The scent of anticipation –
water soon to fall from sky
on wind rushing trees;
the surf of the woods around me
lifts all world toward setting sun,
as trees and grass and bush wave green,
bowing low to lake shivering
with cry of loon and whip-poor-will.
An offering of exultant peace,
and the writing of it, my praise.