I remember back then when walking along the swamp path I remember seeing lavender, pink and orange Hugging the horizon A rich palette of color Leaking through skeletal trees Announcing the arrival of the sun To light the day.
I remember walking not so long ago Same path, same sky, same everything Yet a gray shroud laid across the sky holding back A flood of color trying in vain to influence the day Amidst steel wool clouds rolling out an even darker gray All making me wonder, why bother If there is no sunrise To light the day
Then I remembered something As I walked along the swamp path I remembered some wisdom from a friend who said Even though the kaleidoscope of morning beauty Is hidden and all seems lost, grim, hopeless Unseen on the other side of the gray There’s always a sunrise To light the day
For some reason today’s walk seemed to take longer. Even though I walked the same path and distance at the same early morning time, it seemed longer. Maybe different sounds, different sights?
Today, when I started down the path the dark sky whispered, “Look at me!” There they were, a sliver of a waning crescent moon (only hours away from becoming new) hanging below bright Venus in the eastern sky. Both of them shone brightly before the not-quite-here-yet sunrise. Then when I turned to the southwest there was Orion, big and bright. The stellar views stopped me and made me wish I had my good camera and not just my phone.
Maybe you saw all this, too. Maybe you caught some of this beautiful display from your driveway as you got ready to head out for the day.
Perhaps you had the window seat on that early southbound flight I spied overhead. Maybe from there you peeked out and caught an up-close glimpse of the shining crescent.
Maybe you wondered as you looked out the kitchen window, nursing the first cup of coffee, “What is that bright star in the east?”
Or maybe the clouds got in the way.
The amazing thing is, no matter if there are clouds or the objects fade ahead of the rising Sun, they still remain in their appointed places doing what they are created to do, singing the Creator’s praise.
Sometimes I sing along, joining “the music of the spheres.”
And sometimes, on cloudy days, I try to remember mornings like this. I try to remember that “this is my Father’s world.”
Walk as Children of Light 