One Sunday Morning
Very early on a clear vibrant Sunday morning,
I awaken from a deep sleep at dawn’s first light.
The stillness of the early hour retreats
For the bright morning sun overtakes the night.
I begin my day running through the forest,
Down pathways and under branches covered with moss.
Along the way, I stop to rest and catch my breath.
It is then I see a small piece of wood in the shape of a cross.
As my morning run continues through this scenic wonder,
The pathway begins to narrow and becomes no more than a trail.
I wonder at the colorful landscape that surrounds me
But ahead of me, I catch sight of a rusty nail.
I’m amazed at the stunning beauty that encompasses me.
Countless living creatures, caterpillars, butterflies and moths,
Nature’s storybook in brilliant pictures of living things.
And I glimpse before me an iridescent piece of cloth.
The on-going journey through this vast and pulsating place,
Presents me with a remarkably, priceless event of my own.
For how could anyone predict such picturesque beauty?
And at that moment I set eyes on a small smooth stone.
A piece of wood about 2 inches long, stained by years of exposure,
A rusty nail with orange colored flakes that fall gently when stirred;
A scrap of white linen cloth, crumpled and resting beside the rusty nail;
And a small stone, worn smooth from seasons deferred.
It was then that I understood. Love came to me.
Love was crucified!
Flesh was wounded and nailed to a cross.
Love was hidden!
Flesh was wrapped in white linen cloth.
Love was buried!
Flesh was sealed in a tomb.
Love came alive!
The stone was rolled away.
rancherwriterpoet 