A Hawk in the Morning Mists

One morning, when the early mists still hung in the air, I saw from my living room window, a magnificent hawk perched on a tree in my neighbor’s yard.  The sight was so beautiful, a poem arose from within me.

Soft curtains of rain fall from Heaven,
kissing the earth, now rich brown,
gently drinking its fill, smiling and satisfied.

The hawk perched on the eucalyptus branch,
calm and imposing, surveying, contemplating.
He shudders, the rain drops falling from his feathers.

Though damp and wet, he is suited to his habitat.
A creature of the hills and tees, of the earth,
able to weather the storms and sunshine,
the cold and the heat, the wet and the dry,
for the number of days allotted to him.

The morning is a picture:
God’s ample and gracious provision,
gently delivered to bless the earth and its inhabitants.
They asked for it not and yet it was given,
just what was needed, so good and complete.
God’s creatures, shaped to fulfill their destiny
as God clothes, feeds, directs, and provides.

What an eloquent display for me this morning
as I gaze at the green canyons outside,
at the bouquet of natural life that moves through the seasons,
so amply cared for.
Rich green, new grass, leaves and birds,
dry hills and heat,
dormant promise of what is to come.
Animals, insects and birds,
births and deaths, cycles and seasons,
just outside my window
and inside my heart, my home, my life.

So many dreams, struggles, and milestones
watered, pruned, cared for, loved,
harvested, then put to rest.
some gently, others rudely, suddenly wrestled to the ground.

Yet, His loving arms always there to catch,
comfort and hold, to sing lullabies, strengthen and renew.

The hawk pulls back his wings, ready to take flight.