Frosted Dawn
There
is a
moment
of perfect
stillness
between
the
in-breath
and the
out-breath;
small,
silent,
vulnerable,
and so often
missed;
but,
when we
attend,
always
infinite
in
depth.
It dwells
where
the now,
radiant and
eternal,
is touched
as transformation,
as grace;
for there
the
Risen One
is revealed
in the
burning
bush
of our breath,
of our being.
Just
as a garden,
emerging
frost tipped
from night's
entombment,
knows
the delight
of dawn's
first touch
and yields
to the
daily
moment
of resurrection
with the
inhalation
of light,
with the
exhalation
of
birdsong.
