The mornings roll together in sleepy familiarity.
The routine is consistent, the rhythm the same.
But this morning I heard a bird trill a familiar tune,
and suddenly I was back in that wonted place dear to my heart.
Swept up in the music, I sat on my old back porch with Your Words in hand.
I climbed up the apple tree just to check the nest.
I hid between the berry bushes and listened to a searching sister’s voice.
And here, on this big brown couch, I remember –
Your eyes upon me are the same eyes,
Your voice within me the same voice,
Your goodness toward me to same goodness.
Two worlds apart, and many journeys between,
You are my constant custom.
And I am grateful.