Waking

This imagery is what came to my mind as I saw the sunlight gleaming through my curtain this morning. White and gold, with a brisk breeze blowing as the world brightened…

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Ask the morning to awake me gently,
Dawn of gracious gold and white unclouded
Touch my eyelids while the sun is leaping
Up the age-old paths through gnarled winter;
Breathe the newness of a day uncluttered;
Some days keep their freedom through to twilight;
Some days keep their kindness till the nightfall.

Sun goes striding far above our troubles,
Looks down on the day, perhaps, to wonder
Why his handfuls of bright gold lie crumpled,
Lost beneath the refuse of our shadows.
Still he climbs the eager winter highlands,
Flings his largesse lightly through the heavens,
Brushes back the clouds and winds that linger
As the unknown days begin to lengthen.

Still I wish to follow his bright footsteps,
Hear his laughter echo in the chasms
Where old winter lurks with earnest clamor,
Querulous and dim. A robust cleaning
Out of crannies, brushing icy cobwebs
Off from weary old December, bringing
Gold into the shadows left from nighttime.

I should like to find the sun’s bright trailhead--
Unassuming spot, no doubt, to clamber
Up the sides of winter’s cliffs--to wander
High above: a world of golden shadows,
Lights, and warmth Sun leaves for us who follow.
Such a trail--the chasms clean and gilded
So the swallows may fly through with feathers
Bright, untainted, past the season’s waiting;
See, the flowers of the snow still slumber,
Till the Sun’s bright fingers joy to touch them;
Wake me as you wake the sleeping flowers:
White and gold of Sun through winter roaming.