Quietly I sit, back braced against fading night,
Watching for first break of morning,
Breathing cold mountain air, arms sweatered against the chill.
This dawn, blue mountains will frame the Great Face,
Slowly lifting as it always does above shapeless sleep,
Mysterious vapor rising from dreamy lake.
This sacred moment passes quickly— never to return—
Like smoke, like victory, like God that wakes to
Walk across this pristine Earth, tranquil and at peace.
There is no need to pray, for prayer is here with me,
Emerging so deeply within my Being that words
Seem stiff and strained while wordless wonder reigns.
Just before light breaks forth— comes a sound—
A doe slowly walks across this holy sight,
Her silhouette dark against the water mirror
As in some ancient fairy tale where breath is held,
Waiting for entrance of the Lord of Light.
Even a sigh might startle this broidery of opal sight.
Swift as trembling eye kisses newborn day,
Spirit hastens on her way— Orison comes,
Consumes the night and in succession
Casts his splendor upon awakening Earth.
I stretch my limbs and stand to claim,
Preserve this gift in quiet memory and verse.