At Sunrise

The sun's slow arc breaks the horizon's purple rim,
its rise as slow and certain as the dimming stars in brightening blue.
The shy light of daybreak slants a seabird shadow over powder-pink sand.
Early in the morning, I shall seek You.


The air moves, quiet as God's whisper to His war-weary prophet, breathing:
His name, His glory, His presence, His peace.
What more do I need, here on this slender curved finger of sand,
as I look out to the edge of the world?


The tidal pool barely ripples, a guarded sanctuary, 
as only meters away, salted foam
relentlessly, repeatedly, scours the brilliant shore.


In this sheltered place, sandpiper and egret and ibis
with backward knees and delicate necks,
bend and bow for breakfast. 
Their posture resembles reverence. Do they know 
by their instinct what I know by Your revelation?
You open Your hand and satisfy the desires 
of every living thing.


Peace is Your long light, 
the covering of Your wing,
the colors of Your glory, 
the sound of Your gentle voice,
the opening of Your hand, 
the sureness of Your faithfulness,
more certain and steady than the sand and sun and sky.


The heron flaps low, seeking, watching, 
casting broad shadows across my notebook page.
I look up and gaze at Your beauty in this sanctuary,
having already found what I seek.


As near as Your breath and as long as eternity,
is the refuge I find beneath the shadow of Your wing.
Peace is Your open, ageless hand, cupped beneath me,
Your great nurturing wing, covering my bowed head.



You will keep in Your perfect peace 
the one whose mind is set upon You,
the one who trusts in You.


Recommended reading: 
Pilgrim at Tinker's Creek, by Annie Dillard
Psalm 63:1-8
Psalm 27