These winter mornings

come cold and slow,

a pale showing,

the darkness gradually

giving way

to shades of light.

The night holds to the earth

like a mother

not ready to give way

to the growing up

of a last child.

But above the ground,

the brush,

the dips and sways

of the lay of the land,

the hand of morning

takes hold

and the sky glows

orange, pink, blue.

The changing comes slowly,

tall branches

stroked against the sky,

a promise of greater light,

of brighter time.

We make our way,

stumble from sleep to stirring,

greeting the day

that the Lord has made,

ready for the hand of his work

within us.

H. Arnett

1/4/11