In the Meditation Hut
Under a Skylight Filled With Starlings.
Waves of starlings
land on the shingled roof.
I sit and present
myself for meditation.
But I cannot keep
from looking up.
The flock lifts
off of the gable.
The birds are
a great roaring engine
of air and will.
The rumbling
wheel of flight
spins through
the morning mist,
only to land
on the peak
again and again.
Is it joy
the starlings know?
Or is it just
what they were
born to do...
circling within
hidden labyrinths,
a shudder of wind
upon God's spine.
I bow to the altar.
My heart flutters,
and opens wide.
I breathe within
my Beloved's breath.
We rise in a hundred
winged praises
across the morning sky.
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(c) Copyright Rick Sievers, 12/2011 on text and images, All rights reserved.
