From the dark of the night to which we are born
That envelops and conceals as the hours grow long
To the pale blue of dawn as light casts forth its veils
In layers of color across the land,
From his perch in the great firs of age and strength
An eagle ruffles his feathers and takes flight
Stretching his wings in the fresh breeze of morning
Swooping between shadow and light,
Up past the mountains and into the sky
Into the clouds that gather and transform
Shifting phenomena of water drops that gather
Into a burgeoning storm,
And the winds band together and twisted howl
Churning the clouds and the currents in the sky
Throwing hail and sleet and rain in the muddling mist
Through which the eagle does fly,
Battered and tumbled and indubitably ruffled
Sodden and soaked with chill in the hollows of his bones
Buffeted by the storm he nonetheless perseveres
In the sky that has ever been his home,
When the storm has passed and the winds’ flow untangled
The eagle spirals down towards the mountains far below
Towards a gleaming turquoise lake that rose to lap the
valleys
While the thunder roared in the lightning’s glow,
There are glints in the lake: silver flashes in the depths
The eagle tucks his wings in and dives
Through the sparkling surface gay and bright
Towards that for which he strives,
As light is scattered away the blue is deeper and darker
Til the color has given way to eternal night within the
depths
Touched by the blood of fish and feather of the eagle
All on a single breath,
Up the eagle rises leaving the cold peace of the lake’s dark
For the joy of air and warm sunshine and the tumultuous sky
Beating his wings against the water from darkness into light
Hoisting his goal up high,
Upon a sturdy fir bough on a lake’s lately sunny shore
The eagle feasts on fish and surveys the mountain vale
And the pure blue sky with its white puffs of clouds
Realms of water and air in which he doth prevail.
