Early in the morning
It’s too beautiful a day not to be
Sitting outside in my front yard
With my too strong expresso
Wearing the too short shorts I promised my wife I would not wear outside.
Where the neighbors can see me.
It’s okay; it’s rush hour quiet in the neighborhood.
The locusts and grasshoppers are electric in the lawn.
I can hear the muffled sounds of my boys playing in their bedroom and a bird building it’s third-try nest in the broken porch light and two squirrels chasing each other up the tree trunk and my neighbor, in remission, saying ‘I love you’ as her husband closes their front door.
I look up at clear blue air and see a crow floating like driftwood
Enjoying this sacramental morning as much as me.
I think, or remember from somewhere, how the whole earth is charged with the grandeur of God.
And I pray, as people would expect from their pastor: thank you for the grace of a beautiful day.
But then I confess: forgive me.
For not noticing any other day.