This morning, as first light seeps over the mountains
and drifts into my valley,
I will stand on the sandy crest behind my home,
face to the glowing peaks,
and I will sing to the sunrise as she wraps her arms
around the summit.
Vibrant green from sweet winter rains,
canyons and rock falls emerge from soft shadows,
coaxed into the day by a paintbrush dipped in
orange amazement.
I will add my voice to announce the unfolding.
The melody will be measures of greeting and gratitude.
I will cup my hands around my mouth
and I will megaphone
the fortissimo
of my heart.
Mountain sheep will lift their heads from dewy grass,
soaring birds will swoon in the updraft of delight,
atop the highest peak aspens and pines
will sway in the vibration of
note upon note.
Little gray rabbits will stand on their hind legs,
twitching their ears;
even the rocks will pulse
in the crescendo
of sheer joy.
My companion in song
will be the tiny desert wren
perched on the highest branch of the mesquite
behind me.
She glories in song.
She will be the descant of all creation,
the combined voices of every living thing that
cannot hold back the praise.
We will exhaust ourselves in song
until we can sing no more.
Then,
she on her high altar perch
and me,
sitting in the hand of the warming earth,
will listen to the echoes and
reverberations
returning as the mountain\'s reply.