Is the Creator here, too, in our garden,
walking quietly in the cool of the morning,
putting finishing touches to this magnum opus?
Surely it is an opus Dei.
Profusion of colours brought forth
by the intensity of the radiant sun
which yet is behind me, hidden and distant.
Deep copper plum bursting forth against
the sleek, smooth sky;
Blue undefiled by man-made stain;
Bright green of next door’s lime picked out
by the light,
demanding my attention in the contrast;
and the steadfast poplar,
bright bundles of leaves striving
to fill every space between
each solid, upright trunk.
An ongoing work of creation.
Fountains of white pour forth into the cooler shades;
Starbursts of ivory and gold;
Tiny dabs of blue, pink, red.
Opus operantis.
I am touched by this morning sacrament,
this work of grace.
The cool, hushed air floods in
through my open doors,
touching my face,
causing me to pull my warming blanket
more tightly round;
Bringing with it a symphony of song.
Constantly changing.
Not yesterday’s chorus.
This is today.
A new day.
Beginning.
Can I, too, walk with the Creator
in my morning garden
and help to make this
resurrection day?