Climber's Morning

Shards of birdsong

scatter through the sleeping Valley.

Stillness is shattered.

Breezes brush

gentle fingers

over sleeping hemlock.

Rising boughs,

freshened,

stretch Heavenward,

Singing prayers

of adoration

to God.

Faithfully, light bathes the cliff side, washing it's face in Royal splendor.

This is the day that the Lord has made.

This is a climber's morning.

E. Strain

2/16/98