This morning the grass appears grey with the glint of moisture from overnight rain, the trees around this green square are still and silent except for a slight quiver in the topmost leaves. This early, the birds are singing, but there is little evident movement from them as if they are reluctant to intrude on the awakening beauty of the day.
Behind me, Oakwood Hall, our dorm, is already alive to the new day - early comings and goings, the fragrant aroma of freshly-brewed coffee and the quiet purr of a Trasna Transport Trolley waiting for its first passengers. I am surrounded by tranquility as I let my eyes follow the patterns made by the ever-brightening sun on the building across from me. In a few places my eyes are assaulted by the fire-red glow in the windows of Redwood Hall, then as I move my eyes to the front of the building I see the five saplings closest to me - they are bursting with life and vibrant energy. Because there are so many older trees around, the young trees remind me that we, too, are in the process of unfolding, of becoming, growing stronger now that we have realized our deep-felt hope of being a Congregation without Provinces.
The sun, rising above the corder of Redwood Hall, suddenly touches the top of the telegraph pole on Cedar Avenue and I’m totally entranced by the spidery cobwebs between the wires, all sparkling with a thousand diamonds, sending lasers of red, blue, green, purple into the surrounding trees. Surely the beauty of Creation is surrounding me this early morning. Thank you, God!
by Eileen Byrne
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment