Last Call of the Night Watchman

Last Call of the Night Watchman
 

Sundog (also parhelion), the
appearance of bright spots
 of light on either side of the sun


Morning bounds out of the black shade... all but taps me on the shoulder... Hey, lady! Big round yellow circle here! I watch it with my back. I like to see what it does more than how it looks. The universe calls out importantly Born again! You there! Her! Him! Everything’s new and everyone has do-overs or at the very least another chance to get it right. All’s well. Night was blasted prettily; it’s skittered off to lick its wounds. A light breeze makes
teasing eddies on a small lake prodding
it awake and petulant it slaps the shore
not fully lucid yet, its lazy waves
like fingers tipped with jewels


It’s not a subtle thing, this exotic transformation, but it’s gotten ordinary to us: night day dark light, a hushed percussion that doesn’t skip a beat but marches evenly, troops on through the seasons year by year. My father never missed a day of work but knew the miracle
of dawn. He was both earth and sky and
then the time came when he couldn’t soldier
on and went where I can’t find him. Ever
since, I’ve felt a bit at sea... adrift like
the small child lost in the department store.
Daddy always found me then. But when he went
away for good, when I waited gripping a stranger’s
hand and he didn’t return, I knew that daylight
wouldn’t be a sure thing any more. The
drum had stopped. I couldn't hear the
marching now

Hidden Lake, Glacier
National Park, Montana


I must have slept. How is it that the early sunlight whispers on my neck?... another chance to get it right I guess. I can’t see the lake from here; I know it’s nearby where it’s always been, the lissome willows with their graceful branches
dangling at its edge; if I were fanciful, perhaps I'd wonder if they laugh to hear it mutter and complain and watch it stumble into wakefulness... and languidly it
swats with jeweled fingertips at merry
breezes; the rhythm settles and becomes
familiar, and I am at ease

All images: vnwallpapers

Pray It Well

Old Pat
(A spiritual)

I’m sitting pretty by my window, Lord.
My, that sun feels fine to me.
It’s been raining, it’s been raining hard.
Thank you, God, for variety.
Indeed we’re living in a wondrous world—
Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!

Saw Miss Caterpillar creeping by,
Slow as syrup, plain as pie.
Now she’s shouting to me, “My, oh, my!
“Look, Miss Mary, I’m a butterfly.”
Indeed we’re living in a wondrous world—
Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!

Old Pat came calling, brought his tattered heart
And a long, sad tale of woe to tell.
“Pray,” I told him, “that’s where you start.
“Pray it strong and pray it well.”
Indeed we’re living in a wondrous world—
Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!




Next day, Pat, he came back again.
“How many minutes do I have to pray?”
“Can’t tell you where, can’t tell you when,
“But the Lord never turned an honest man away.”
Indeed we’re living in a wondrous world—
Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!

“Pray for the kids who’ve got no shoes;
“Pray for the sick and the mournful, too.
“Pray for the folks who’ve got no food.
“That’ll keep you busy, I promise you.”
Indeed we’re living in a wondrous world—
Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!

Where’d all these flowers come from, Lord?
From those itty-bitty seeds, you say,
And the power of your word
Given to them on Creation Day.
Indeed we’re living in a wondrous world—
Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!

There’s Old Pat, smiling at the sky,
Grateful in his heart at last.
“Look, Miss Mary, my, oh, my,
“See the butterflies sailing past.”
Indeed we’re living in a wondrous world—
Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!
Indeed we’re living in a wondrous world—
Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!

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Pink window seat: www.bhg.com
Refugees: GlobalIntegrityFoundation.org