As I sit on my verandah and watch the crows
fly towards the soon rising light beyond the distant ranges,
the quiet hills and sky, the gently waving trees
await their sungod -
And then, in the very moment of sunrise
beamed over them in gold
they echo back a silent exhalation of praise,
a booming silence,
a breath of thanks,
glorious acceptance of the gift
pantheons of praise, around and round the Earth, forever
as the sun rays the new day
over the perpetually rolling horizon.
What a breath! Seen between perceptions
on the fulcrum of a question.
My person feels so little, tied down,
but the soul partakes
in its natural element
the world, and all its weaving rhythms,
silent communications in
pulses of power.
Ian Trousdell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-nature-edit-the-crows-fly-towards/
