This is my Father’s world:
at 6am, the dawn cool and clear,
skies dyed a pale yellow
melting into rosy peach – a heartbeat
just over the horizon, pulsing warmth
despite the crispness of the breeze.
I stop in the middle of the crosswalk
while the roads are still at rest;
not a soul but myself in sight,
serenaded by the chirping songbirds
and that woodpecker on the telephone pole.
And in the stillness I breathe a prayer
as the shadows give way to glory.
This is my Father’s world,
this home away from home,
where I still feel lost on a little campus,
the California sun breathing heat into the morning,
and the hummingbirds flitting over
exotic pink blossoms with names
I couldn’t guess.
I lean forward, baggy sweatshirt
flapping, feel that
ache in my chest dissolve
for one brilliant, blazing moment
as I stand in this silence.
And I think,
I belong here.
In my Father’s world.
It’s a start,
knowing I’ve just found my first bit of home.