Behind the Grindstone: Morning Praise

He stands alone where the earth meets the sky
Where humming birds and eagles fly
On the edge of the canyon wall
Listening to the waterfall
From the stream wandering far below
Speaking words he does not know

Standing there all alone
He’s unfazed by the unknown
Although he is one with the land
Perhaps it’s not meant he understand
The words that the stream speaks
Or what it is the water seeks

Or the hoot owl’s hoot there in the trees
The leaves rustling in the morning breeze
Another answers from down below
As daylight now begins to show
The coyote yips his his mournful cry
A sweet and tender lullaby

A meadowlark warbles in the fading night
As a paintbrush spreads the colors of light
Blazing orange and the darkest red
As the sun arises from his bed

And there he stands on the canyon wall
Thanking his Creator for it all
Standing there facing the light
With his back to the fading night
He raises his arms to the Ancient of Days
And sings his morning song of praise

At least, that’s the view here from behind the grindstone.