This room gets
afternoon light;
morning, too, streams
in creating
simplicity.

The hawks
sit in the
trees, communing.
The world
goes on, in steel
complexity.

Warm, here
just roof above,
and
among
the trees in
company of hawks
who nest. One hawk
sits
on a branch,
lit by engaging
moments of
sun; spring
newness amid
the gray manmade
world that impedes
yet connects
the eternal life.

Pray.

Thank you
morning through
daylight to night,
bright stars
for a promise
of goodness.
God.

Witnessing
the light.
I remark
to you of
divine moments.

We enter mansions
heavenly, just flesh
and spirit.
Ascending.

Friends.

Thursday’s vigil, night time
We await in vigil
a mystery
promise.

A surprise
of one in three,
eternity opens its gates.

The cross,
the tomb,
sorrow allows ecstasy
of kindness

for He is not here, the angel tells.
Easter word.
We stretch our arms out to you.

(CAPTION)
This hawk may not be the one sighted near where I live. As one book review put it, “The standard field guides tend to assume that the observer will be close enough to the bird to pick out details of color and patterns for identification. Hawks, falcons, and their kin, however, are often seen in flight at distances far too great for color and pattern to be apparent...”
Photo: Anonymous