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In Awe of His Creation
The old rugged tree overshadows me as I
lie below it.
Its wrinkled and shedding long branches
extend down towards the ground,
kissing it,
and then, ascends to the heavens to
indulge its light.
My eyes are closed, listening to the
wind.
It blows softly over my body, caressing
my face, my hands, my feet.
The fields, painted with hues of reds
and yellows,
the pastures, bathed in the golden rays
of the sun,
while the pinks peek through the dancing
violet clouds,
whisper into my ears the sounds of the
ocean,
as if its waves were gently tossed back
and forth by the moon at night.
The wind speaks to me as a mother would
speak to her infant,
gentle, kind, calm, loving, as if I were
that innocent creature,
Embracing me tightly, not letting go,
afraid to lose me.
It reassures me that I will never be
left alone, never be forgotten.
I opened my eyes.
The fields became a sea of moving
meadows.
The air carried a fragrance of dampened
wood and hay.
The clouds met with the ground in the
distance, inseparable.
As I look up through the almost leafless
tree,
I can see the stars peeking from their
hiding places.
One after the other, they abandoned the
realm of the invisible.
Some remained, others fell.
I blinked, the light of the day was
quenched.
The bright pinks, the glittering gold, all faded into the black night.
The moon, the stars, the planets, all
stole the throne of the absent sun.
The wind whispered no more, it became
silent, placid.
the howling of the wolves echoed through
the mountains, the trees, the rivers.
The roosters crowed loudly, reminding
the moon and stars that the sun will
return,
reminding me that the Creator speaks
even at night.
I closed my eyes.

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