Gliding through shimmering mirrors
Passing reeds standing sentry.
Even slow speeds cause ripples,
But oh! What ripples!
Calm grace sliding by
Orange beak, white feathers
Flat against the back;
They don’t notice me.
Orange glow touches the sky
And dark shapes turn into field stubble.
Red streaks amongst the blue
And that old phrase strikes my mind:
Red sky in the morning…
It doesn’t seem true right now
With this majesty of colour
Adorning the heavens.
If I were religious I might
See this display as God’s church
But I know in my heart that
God is not a white man with a beard.
What then is God,
Creator of this beautiful awe?
I both want and don’t want it to be an authority.
I can understand the Christian need for that.
To rest in that idea of infantilisation.
The comfort, the fear, the love.
But I value truth more.
The quiet awe of a sunrise
Has many interdependencies
Just like us
In our relations
With each other
And our world
And its weather,
There would be no heavenly sky,
Which inspired painters to
Create their biblical masterpieces.
That awe as one looks to the sky
Does not need a God to complicate it,
To punish people,
To work in mysterious ways.
It just needs to be felt.