Friday, January 29, 2010

The gift

I stood on the terrace, newly tiled and damp with dew, and held my breath, sucked in a deep draught of air and held it, knowing that any second the fiery Sun would lift over the horizon. And there! On schedule. To the second. As if someone opened the circular door of a furnace.

And the wind whispered hosannahs. The clouds paused processing in their gorgeous vestments. Geckos ceased their skitterings and genuflected. I let out my breath in a long slow prayer: Introibo ad altare Dei.

Teilhard de Chardin called one of his essays "The Mass on the World." Sunrise is my daily Mass.

I think of an image of Mary Oliver, in a poem called Morning in a New Land:
I stood like Adam in his lonely garden
On that first morning, shaken out of sleep,
Rubbing hs eyes, listening, parting the leaves,
Like tissue on some vast, incredible gift.