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