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Monday, March 20, 2006

Ode to a Precarious Blossom

Miles behind us life's cares sat
Mouldering in the mundane world;
God's hand before us unfurled

What manner of beauty is inherent
In rocks strewn about a hill?
My quickened spirit cannot be still!

What beauty this is, my God!
This beauty I did soon realize
Is filtered through my poor eyes;

I surely cannot fully grasp
The incredible force of nature
With such simple nomenclature: is you whispering to me;
Asking, begging me to peer through
Granite faces to see you.

God help me to see!

Heights continue upward;
Our journey is nearing its end.
What lies around the next bend?

That sound is so familiar now;
We anticipate what we know nears -
Water's sweet voice touches our ears.

A railless bridge meets our view;
The peaceful stream runs below;
No troubled waters here do flow.

Above the walk ours eyes met;
Mill Creek splashed it playful "Hi"
As it dropped its water from the sky.

As we walked away I heard once more
The sound of water moving fast;
And heard His whispering voice at last.

God, help me to hear!

Thick trees cleared wide open;
The trail spilled out of dead wood
And onto clean, gray rock we stood.

It seemed as though the whole
Of Carolina lay before us.
No wind or water played a chorus;

Sound, thought and time stopped
As we gazed upon these expanding sights
That only come with awesome heights.

What is it that grabs my attention?
Over the edge and into blue
A blossoming tree demands our view.

A backdrop of thousands of trees
Standing dead from winter's cold,
Reaching tall and growing old.

Hanging over open space;
Keeping watch o'er the distant land;
Reaching out like a father's hand

To cover over the farthest points
With a calming stroke as wind then passed;
Our small throng poised en masse

Awestruck by tiny petals;
Pink clusters floating nearly free
Clinging to bare branches of the tree.

Snapshots of a blossom
Filled my camera and danced in my mind;
To all other things we were briefly blind.

At last I heard that voice again
Through the wind which barely wailed
The words of God were then exhaled,

"I'll help you to see me by my Creation,
I'll help you to hear me by mind's revelation,
But I'll help you to know me through no special powers
Just look on a mountain for a tree with pink flowers.


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