Dear Heavenly Father,
You delight me in the early morning as I stare at barren trees.
The dead leaves barely hanging onto
wintry, sleeping branches
suddenly come alive
at the noise of the garbage trucks arriving.
Not dead leaves at all,
but resting birds,
warming themselves in your rising sun,
watching the mountain turn
from black to purple to pink,
defined in its own shadows.
The birds shoot away like arrows from the noise
that has disrupted their sweet repose.
In the silence that follows
the leavetaking of the lumbering trucks,
one by one the feathered leaves return
to take their places,
filling the tree again
in the amber dawn.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, for allowing me to rejoice in this new day you have made.