And yet another train whistle.

November 3, 2017

Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery and harp: I myself will awake early. Psalm 57:8

Awaken.

A blink of the eye

Axis spinning in His hands

Dark has lost its grip.

Harps and lutes are a little rare around this part of town. The train whistle roars and the clackity clack of the iron wheels against the iron track straight through the middle of downtown. A car rushes over the pocked street. Yet another train whistle.

The flickering candle is silent. The round orb of light over the front gate draped in pink bougainvillea is silent. The moon, the longnight or frost moon dangling low over the Tucson mountains in the west is silent.

The shepherd lumped in rolling knolls on a cold dark night. No harps nor lutes. Perhaps an occasional sheep snuffle or fellow snore. A cascade of pebbles loosened by restless turning.

Unsuspecting and dulled with the wait.

Longnights.

Awaken.

The window opens east and with each glance, the sky is lighter, pressing golden pink through the tree shadows.

Black shifts into green.

Relentless.

The sun is relentless.

Light wins.

Hope presses up through the cold dark.

Every time.

O Lord, let my soul rise up to meet You

As the day rises up to meet the sun.

And yet another train whistle.

But now it is light.