The first few slants of light
hit the trees with glowing cast,
a gentle burning that will only last
for two or three minutes
until the blue gray of overcast skies
dulls the dawning of this chill morning. 

But I will remember the way
that this day started
with that warming light
stroking the birches
like God's own touch.

And the red fox trotting
up from the pasture
—such graceful legs—
then stepping up and walking along the tops
of the old railroad ties
bordering and bounding the strawberries.

She paused there for a moment,
ears pointed forward,
studying the horses,
then stepped down,
moving through a shaft of sun
on her way toward the shed,
an impossibly brilliant form
passing through the torching light.

Even though we live 
in the presence of God,
such moments as this
let me feel his touch. 


H. Arnett
2/28/23