For the Hours

Evening

When the sun burns heavy

and shadows stretch across the ground, 

I hear the day deciding, That’s enough.  

When the sky melts dim and dusk,

I set down things never finished and 

praise God for what is already done.

Before I am called in from the wild,

I place my palm on the earth 

and feel the warmth it has collected.

Before I am gathered in for the feast,

I place my palm on my chest 

and feel the warmth I am still collecting. 

Night

The darkness comes in shades 

to sharpen vision and soften dreams, 

a celestial reorientation for all my trying.  

The chorus of crickets swells and echoes, 

tiny creatures making joyful noise

in the face of galaxies still stretching!

I am wrapped in layers and still exposed 

to the wide wonder of air cooling, releasing 

the weight of the world like breath exhaled.

I am wrapped in layers and warm in bed, 

buried beneath quilts stitched by women 

and their prayers for rest and rising.

Morning

I like to rise early while last night’s dew 

still hangs in the air, unsolved mysteries 

that blanket the whole earth in baptism. 

I like to rise early, moving outdoors 

with a swift and gentle gate, getting caught 

in cosmic and terrestrial vows that keep.

I wait outside, robed in soft light breaking, 

recalling that every single thing 

comes from darkness before dawn.

I wait outside with reverence for dayspring 

and her routine, unflappable and iconic, 

glory that brings me back to the beginning.

Midday

Before I get carried away 

by my own progress 

or the pressure to do more; 

Before this morning’s 

fresh intentions wear thin 

or I mistake this yield as mine;

I pause from work 

and come home to my breath 

and the beats of my heart.

I pause to give thanks 

to the One who loves my labor, 

who loves my being even more.  

Permissions and Use: These poems are written by Meta Herrick Carlson. They were commissioned by Shalom Hill Farm in Windom, Minnesota as part of the Prairie Spirituality Project, 2023. They are posted on the prairie trails there as a resource for movement and reflection. (Since I retain rights to these poems, you are welcome to use them in your context, too. Just credit me in print using this language.)