A faint whisper floats in the enveloping darkness,
“Morning comes. Light is arriving.”
The words are gentle and soft,
the texture of cloud or fine mist after
a summer rain. More than announcement,
the alluring words proclaim sacred benediction
as Night dons his black cloak, looks once more
upon Sleep’s handiwork, then moves toward
the faint appearing of Light.
Darkness to light. Sleep to waking.
I am awed by the hope of transformation:
violence to peace, fear to trust,
shallow reality to deep consciousness.
I dream that all words spoken in the dawning day
will be reconciling, that hands extended
to all creatures will bear gifts of grace,
that caring hearts will recognize sacredness
borne in all beings.
On the edge of sleep and waking,
the thin place between two worlds,
I sense a gentle tug on the warm covers,
a signal that life awaits.
“Rise, child. Light calls your name.”
Shining Spirit 
Beautiful!
Beautiful, Roger. Thank you!
I thoight it was going to be Maggie tugging on the covers. I really loved the transitions – from those of nature to to those of our broken world.
Thanks, Lynne. Maggie doesn’t pull covers. She just stands by the bed and hits it with her big paw. It works.