POETRY: Sunrise in Litchfield

A band of red, orange,

yellow light

bleeds from the horizon

into the blue of the

wakening sky—

an echo of yesterday’s

ethereal rainbow. A pair

of swallows dive and twirl,

the invisible cord between

them taut, then loose,

then taut again—

as they pivot, disappearing

into the unhurried light of the

brightening forest. Watching,

I am conscious of feeling

happy. Then, I remember

the practice of release—

and let go. The rising sun

fills the valley below, gilding

the landscape, sheathing the

gray, bare January trees

in shining cloaks of rosy

gold. My heart fills with joy,

with peace, with awe—

as the clarity of the

present moment

reveals each and every thing

for the miracle it is.