Ora et Labora

High up the mountain canyon

In stillness, clear sunlight

Touches all things created

Precisely and gently.

Mature grasses with seed heads

Bow their ruby red tresses,

Reminiscent of liquid jewels and

Sway gently in the cool breeze.

Featherlike, delicate,

Shimmering, in earth’s grandeur,

Totally submitting to the Sun.

My gaze turns upward to the

Mountains standing guard, barriers

Against 21st century intrusions.image

This canyon of compassionate colors

Broadly striped in layers of dusty rose,

Buff yellows, and sage greens augment a

Sky of startlingly blue expanse.

Nothing but the white form of a waxing

Gibbous moon hangs suspended in eternity.

On a patch of dry desert earth,

Bounteous spikes of indigo blossoms

Vibrate with the flight of bees;

Passionately going about their work.

The air…FULL…

Pressing against suspended movement

Do my senses deceive?  They soar and

Float about in chanted Psalms.

The humming draws me even closer

Into the monastic atmosphere,

Where sons of Benedict divinely chant

Their office seven times each day.

But who influenced whom?  Did bees perhaps

First suggest the ancient tones of chant?

Or are these monks and bees so in tune with

Each other, they unite in work and prayer?

The sky’s blue canopy and crystal soft

Sunlight cover my solitude.  And

Silence sets me adrift in the present…

No past, future or thoughts beyond Now.



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