Reading in
the morning,
I am distracted by the light
that falls
across the page,
across the
room,
climbing
down the wall
as the sun rises.
Somewhere, a
neighbor’s rooster
crows, as I carry
my little boy
toward the bathroom where he
stands
on sleepy legs. Maybe that song
is his prayer, I think, as I carry
this boy back to his bed, fix
the
pillow and blankets,
and close
the door.
Yesterday
afternoon I stood
in the kitchen cutting
potatoes,
eggs, cucumbers and onion and paused
to call my husband, because
of the way
the room was lit through
the windows, the way the
ceiling fan spun,
fresh, the way I
stood, happy
and content in a farm house
kitchen
like so many women have
before.
This, I know, was my prayer.
Photo Credit: HERE.
Linking with Playdates with God and Unforced Rhythms.
Kelly, this is such a picture of beauty and peace. I can feel and see the details. That simplicity is a gift, I would say. And a prayer. 😉
Thanks, Dawn. I'm glad it spoke to you. Yes, simplicity is SUCH a gift.
A prayer the rooster offers EVERY morning. Without fail. Oh, that I would do the same.
A prayer the rooster offers without even trying – the prayer is part of who he is, now that is astounding. Thanks so much for visiting, Beth.
You remind me of Michelle DeRusha's piece, "Prayer is paying attention". So much life in this, Kelly. Thank you.
Thanks Kelli, I'll have to look that up, I think I must have missed that one.