Song of the Morning

 The most interesting part about being awake before dawn is listening to the sounds of the morning.  While still dark, I hear coyotes in the distance, howling their night song.  As the sky begins to lighten, the birds gradually start their herald of the rising sun, first one or two, then more join the chorus, like an orchestra beginning to warm up.  Each one is separate and distinct; one or two are loud and rhythmic, heard above the rest, who seem to be falling into place, each playing his part in welcoming the new day.  Some, like the geese flying overhead, add a loud, brassy sound to the whole orchestral piece.

This morning's song will never be repeated exactly as it is, now, in this present time. It unfolds, moment by moment, unexpected and new, revealing the sacred in the ordinary.  There is joy and celebration in these sounds, as well as the one resounding message of all creation: each song is integral to the whole; each song is a unique expression of the mystery that is life; each song praises this moment alone.  One early spring morning among many to come, but today is all there is: right now.

The truth is, tomorrow is just a thought in my head. Sure, I have a calendar and a plan for what I am expected to do in future days.  I can dream about what might happen or I can spend time worrying  about what I am afraid might happen. I suppose we have to have a blueprint of sorts, but life is really about flow: each moment flows into the next and so on, like a river.  We really don't have as much control as we think we have. Sobering, but true.

So for today, I will put myself into God's tender care, sing my unique song praising the light of dawn, and enter into the river's flow. 

I will be thankful for each moment as it comes and will be fully present, adapting to whatever there is to adapt to.  I will take a lesson from the birds and simply be me.  Maybe that is all that's required.