There is something in the stillness of an autumn morning
when strands of silver mist hover
above the surface of pond and creek,
something silent and soothing
in the windless drift of thin haze
sifting through the seams of bottomland and ditches.
There is something in the bands of color
traced by stems of prairie grass and brome
bent by the seasons yet held lightly,
something warm and wondrous
in the weaving of long blades of tall grass
unafraid of passing time or things to come.
There is something in the first light of bright dawning
when the distant hues of orange and blue
tinge the edges of the earth,
something vast and beautiful
in softly spreading colors that catch the rims
of the opposite sides of heaven.
There is something in the low angle of a rising sun
when the upper edges of fields and banks
gain the glow of night-piercing light,
something somehow both fierce and lovely
when the blondes of foxtail
burn platinum in the glancing fire of day’s beginning.
May mornings such as this
when even weeds turn beautiful
and peace seems to breathe from the earth
lend light and warmth to the worn and weary
and may the glow of a greater Love
shared by the Shaper of this good day
live within me.