Spring Morning

In the ebbing darkness of an April night,
the bright circle of the moon
holds full and warm
above the ridge.

Day comes slowly,
taking hold around the roots of the sky,
a faint glowing of calming color
beyond the east.

The least bit of light
leaches into the north,
where woods and timber
turn into the distant arc of the earth.

In the constant change of seasons,
time after time,
year after year,
life after life,

there is witness of wonder
beyond the hubris of human,
comprehended in delicate flower
and in the raw power of the storm:

we are formed by something
greater than us
and held by grace more tender
than we can comprehend.

H. Arnett
4/9/12