The cool of the morning grass
joins the warmth of the newborn sun
to grace my skin, reminding me
that the world is full of gifts
that pass through Nature’s hand and
are left on the doorstep of perception—
an immaculate conception
of sights, sounds, and smells—
hints which never disappoint,
yet point beyond themselves
in their demure self-evidence
whispering, “We are made!
Rise with us, look beyond us.
Notice more than glen and glade.”
Question the beauty of the earth:
the coy caresses of Dawn
slowly coming on to stubborn Night,
overcoming his refusals,
removing his capacious cloak.
Observe the silent sentinels
blushing into calm, pure blue.
Listen to the sound of hidden birds
singing the scattered notes
of a song that seems familiar,
stirring the tops of the dark, furrowed branches.
The symphony of the ordinary
insists that common grace isn’t
all that common after all.
Beauty steals into our soul
slipping past the barricades of argument
like water soaking into sand.
We are porous and unprepared for moments like these.
She comes unannounced, in splendid apparel
(nature is a synagogue, you know)
demanding for distinctions to be made.
The fringe of God’s garment is beauty.
It touches us, from behind as it were,
healing a hemorrhage we hardly feel.
Each day is grace, each moment truth,
not a cold command or confrontation,
but an offer, an invitation from a dancer,
creating space for us to give an answer.
Photo by Bertrand Soulier on Unsplash