As I sit on my verandah and watch the crows <br />fly towards the soon rising light beyond the distant ranges, <br />the quiet hills and sky, the gently waving trees <br />await their sungod - <br /> <br />And then, in the very moment of sunrise <br />beamed over them in gold <br />they echo back a silent exhalation of praise, <br />a booming silence, <br />a breath of thanks, <br />glorious acceptance of the gift <br />pantheons of praise, around and round the Earth, forever <br />as the sun rays the new day <br />over the perpetually rolling horizon. <br /> <br />What a breath! Seen between perceptions <br />on the fulcrum of a question. <br /> <br />My person feels so little, tied down, <br />but the soul partakes <br />in its natural element <br />the world, and all its weaving rhythms, <br />silent communications in <br />pulses of power.<br /><br />Ian Trousdell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-nature-edit-the-crows-fly-towards/
