Another
Sunday morning
Overcast
like it always is
I awake to
the sounds of stirring
I am not
the first one up
He is
cooking breakfast
Like he
does on a Sunday
Mother is
sleeping in
She enjoys
the days when he cooks
Enjoys the
sounds he makes
Humming to
himself
A bit of a
hymn
A stanza
of the latest hit
Something
from a musical
Maybe “The
Impossible Dream”
Daydreaming
for a moment
He has
become his hero
A modern
Don Quixote
Brandishing
his spatula
Against
pancake and egg alike
When he
catches site of me he stops
He has a
smile for me
We are going somewhere today, son
Just
you and me for a little drive.
Would you like to go to the mountains?
What? No
church? Why?
Church isn’t always in a building
God’s
creations testify of Him
A cryptic fortune
forgotten
In syrup
drenched breakfast
But I got
the gist of the rest
We were
going to the mountains
Going
there instead of church
Just dad
and I on an errand
On the way
I learned the mission
We were
going to services
With the
girls at camp
We were to
bring a message
Break
bread and pour water
Impart of
the holy sacrament
It was an
important task
Disguised
in playing hooky
As we
drove up the mountain
The car
hugged the road
The clouds
sunk below us
We slowly
ascended with the just rising sun
Greeted by
its sultry morning glow
We were joined
in this moment
By a graceful
local denizen
A deer
sprung from the woods
Raced
along beside the car
For
a moment
Then a little longer
Tension
and wonder balanced
On the
tensing knuckles at the wheel
Then just
as suddenly it turned
Back
to the forest
We both
would live another day
To see the
sun from above the clouds
To sit
beside a babbling brook
To hear
the whispers of sacred nature
And offer
a silent amen to their prayers
No comments:
Post a Comment