Gift

Today the air is cold, scented of snow,
And the morning is lit by rose-hued light.
Rising, I forget that air and light
are the ocean in which I live,
the first of all the holiest gifts.
So thank you, I say,
Thank you,
to the one whose Spirit moved across the emptiness
to name the light, the stars, the seas,
to raise the mountains toward the sun,
to fashion a dream of wonder into life.
Thank you,
to the one whose song we hear
on summer nights as crickets cry their praise,
whose glory rises like peepers in the spring,
or swirls like silver snow.
Thank you to the voice we hear
as we fly home like wildest geese,
hearing the ancient call to a place as old as Eden,
as fresh as a child's tomorrow.
Thank you for it all,
for sweet water, and cake,
and pillows at night,
and laughter over wine, and hands to hold,
and remembering, and sometimes forgetting,
and words to heal, and willow trees,
and hummingbirds and elephants,
and candles and wishes,
for tenderness and kisses,
and whispers and the warmth of firelight,
and for the greatest gift of this blue planet,
for us fettered by flesh, wounded, broken and afraid,
who find our way to  love.
And if, tomorrow, I wake again
and breathe the air, cold and scented of snow,
and watch a rose rise like sun,
I will again give thanks to You,
that it is all, all of it, a gift,
and that love is in it all.

--Timothy Haut, Nov. 24, 2013

Chocolate in My Hand

The young girl grins,
and love shines out,
as she presses into my palm
a piece of chocolate,
a chunk of the treasure
bought with her own small dole of coins.
she could have squirreled it away,
saved it for a late-night craving,
nibbled on it to make
her homework less painful,
hid it beneath her pillow
as insurance against a barren day.
But this child knows
some greater truth:
that the best part of life
is in the giving,
and joy is the prize
sweeter than chocolate.
For this
we, too, are given
the greatest gifts.

 --Timothy Haut, 2013

November Prayer

God of the bittersweet and the bare branch,
sing a song for the darkness.
Let it be a song of thanks,
a tune as sweet as sunlight
and the memory of golden hills;
and let it be a song to still
the restless winds and winter's fearfulness.

Sing to us a melody of hope
when hearts are cold and night is long;
a song to help us see the winging geese
and turning constellations,
so that we might rise, rise with them
toward that flaming, bright horizon
at the edges of our world.

God of the first frost and the fox's cry,
sing a song for the waning light,
Let it be a song of faith,
so that the last leaf and the fallow earth
may be signs both of ending and beginning.
Let your hymn make us brave as bulbs,
sunk in the sightless earth,
making ready for spring.

Sing to us a song of love,
sing it deep inside us,
a sweetness for our most bitter times,
a peace to give us holy rest,
an answering voice
at the end of our truest prayers.
Amen.
Amen.

 --Timothy Haut, 2010