The hills are alight with amber
The aspen with gold aflame
Sunlight trickles through shimmering shadows
Setting the river ablaze.
White peaks above the cotton clouds
Billowing puffs against jagged stone
And the rhythm of traffic
A call to breathe.
Trumpet mutes vintage carols
Low brass echoes the sorrow of joy
A load of exhaustion lifted by love
Mothering the wife of her boy.
Scent of towering, swooping cedar
Evergreen overhanging ankle-deep leaves
Swish and crumple beneath tiny boots
Brushing luscious moss astride fallen trees.
whispers of joy
from bouncy beds at night.
Bristling pride at faithful rebuke
Softened by unrelenting love
Becomes humility on both sides
Grace of the Father from above.
A God who weeps
A God who sees
Redeems the pain
Stoops to lift
His wand’ring sheep
His broken hands
The wounded keep.