Do the sunny mornings get any less impressive?
As I cycled to work one morning recently I suddenly noticed something I see almost every day, but in a much different way than normal; the wafting breeze giving the senses more insight regarding the mottled cloud on an otherwise beautiful early morning.
What I noticed wasn’t so much the blue sky, but how that bluish sky resonated deeply within my soul, commanding a questioning bark from within, “Do these mornings get any less impressive?”
Well, no they don’t. They always inspire us, these out-of-doors experiences on lovely days, particularly on a burden-free mind, at home with what the ever-reliable senses bring it.
“Glory, glory, hallelujah,”
Springs home the thought,
Soul sprinkling like a spa,
Times like this not bought.
Sunny skies way up high,
Wonder overthrows us,
One thing never makes us shy,
Soul’s concern no fuss.
Mornings have us on a string,
Boxed, braided and confiscated,
As we do thoughts to bring,
Happiness gets so ‘complicated’.
The very fact that we cannot reconcile how each morning and sunny day crashes our senses in the indivisible joy of life proves God true. And though this perfection of creation—the engorged senses delighting in same—cannot be reconciled, we rest easy, for yet another day.
We enjoy this ‘complicated’ happiness, just for what it is. It is a mystery ever beyond us and something we merely have to accept. It’s not a hard thing to accept.
As the afternoon makes way for evening we beckon the next morning in our minds...
Hope of all hopes, we get to do it all over again in the morrow. It has proven that way since the dawn of time, and certainly as far as we’re personally concerned within our experience.
We can all too easily want to live forever when we’re basking in this reality—which is at extremities against the peace we’ll no doubt achieve in heaven. Peace now or then, or both?
And, yet, all we have is today. But that is enough!
Oh that sunshine and rain—and all else. It’s all the proof of God we need. That this Creator can thrill us every day in the simplest of things; that is proof.
© 2010 S. J. Wickham.