I rose before first light
to behold the sunrise
on the morning after
a drenching winter rain.
But the sky was darkened
by long trains of clouds,
racing across the heavens
on stacked parallel tracks
as if to keep a schedule.
So I did not see the sun rise.
But I did see her light.
And a kettle of vultures
shaking off their slumber
to spread their wings and take
possession of the skies.
I heard the dark eyed junco,
with his feathered cousins,
the wren, sparrow, and jay,
battling the morning cardinal
for supremacy in song.
I heard the roosters crowing,
calling the monks to Lauds,
if any could be found, and
felt the breath of a new day
filling my lungs with glory.
I did not see the sun rise,
But she rose just the same.
Under Christ’s Mercy,
Brent