Chipping Sparrow

The nascent day
makes itself known
like a blue-orange Rothko
on the horizon.

The new day and new year
knock at the door.
Nature’s little announcer
is perched at the summit of a fig tree.

Like diminutive cathedral bells,
a chipping sparrow proclaims the morning.
It is a call to pay homage
to the rising radiance,
an appeal to be awed
by the beauty,
a notice to listen
to the brief hymn.

He sounds his little music
to begin the procession of creation.
Violet and rose,
the infant light of dawn,
the great and mighty sun,
together they slowly enter
the presence of man’s vision.

They come with unstoppable power
following the little arrow
shot from a wooden tower
by the tiny chipping sparrow.