The wind is from the west this morning and
It blows, before the birds awake, the sound
Of traffic on the Interstate over land
And lakes, because no barriers can confound
This noise we humans make in our pursuit
Of industry and pelf, and not the wealth
Of contemplating matters absolute:
Our route to holy wholeness, our true health.
But now, as the winds subside, the birds’ aubade
Begins, their joyful tribute to the sun,
The source of warmth and sustenance, their god,
And will not cease till due oblation’s done.
I take my lesson from these pious birds
And fashion my own hymn in tuneful words.