Rush-hour

 The sun is no longer cradled in the crook of the tree's arm when it rises...a sign of spring-things:)...and oh, it climbs the sky so quickly. I snapped these in approx. 90 seconds. ..as a sort of rush ran through me sensing Mystery soon to be history beneath this hurried molten orb...

Pink pales

Time’s grail tips hallelujahs from

A sacred jar

And none can see

The sea

Where all

Unopened moments are

But soft upon

Time’s gaping yawn

Dawn’s darkness dissipates

And morning like a

Glory-song

Rushes through

Ruby gates

And we who stand beholding

Light igniting every curve

Can only think to whisper

What a mighty God we serve

© Janet Martin