Posted by Tyler Kirkpatrick | July 2, 2020
I was recently inspired to write a poem for each day of creation–(which are written as poems themselves). I will be posting a new entry each day. Today: Genesis 1:14-19.
The Fourth Day
I am on my deck in early darkness when it happens: The clouds, as if painted with liberal oil brushstrokes by some Impressionist artist turn apocalyptic pink; a revealing of the world splashed with colors forgotten by night now irradiated by perfect golden hue, the flowers and trees yawn and begin their daylong photosynthetic stretch toward this giver of life: the Sun.
I am walking back to my dorm in cold alpine air after a late shift in a summer job at the Paradise Inn when I see it: the mountain. Rainier is not hidden by night but all 14,000 feet from my feet to the slopes of the summit are seen in unexpected luminosity: miles of glacier glowing phosphorescent, a reflection of reflected light: The Moon.
I am deep in a desert canyon miles from manmade illumination of metropolis and city The sky hangs above me like a porous black canvas trying to hold back the very light of Heaven which bursts through in millions of little places: The Stars.
Gazing up into space I am transported out of time into the fullness of this Present unaware of growing awareness of my smallness, warmed by the faint breath of eternity invading time.
No wonder so many worshiped Sun, Moon and Stars in holy reverence! What wonder that Ancient Hebrews living under the brilliance of Middle Eastern sun, gazing at the mystery of the moon and spectacle of the stars did not bow in worship, but knew even these are creation: The Fourth Day.
[1] Snowstorm of Stars, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56825 [retrieved July 1, 2020]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:A_snowstorm_of_stars.jpg
