Heron’s grey wings rise in early light,
Awaken me as much as morning cup of tea,
Warms the heart to see the world awaken yet again.
I pause as mystery approaches silently….
Rumi’s words come into mind:
“There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground.”
White joy of prayer arises round the heart,
Not of obligation— it comes as friend that knocks on door,
Unexpected blessing meeting landscape of the morning—
This encounter of the sacred moment comes without a sound,
Invites me inward to kneel before the One,
Allows eyes to see more deeply into grey heron’s gliding wing—
Divine, the way grey turns to white in brighter light,
As brilliant as the soaring soul now sings within the body.
It is a very private time— no one is around but me, the heron,
The world entire— entirely charged with the grandeur of God….
Perhaps my prayer is needed by the Earth….
Does all prayer water thirsty ground that needs our minds to marvel?
Thoughts of Rumi draw close again:
“I never knew God desires us, too.”
The soul of the world is calling, needs our love;
Beckons us on wings of brilliant morning.