There is an island that belongs to the birds. Each evening at sunset flocks of ibis, herons, egrets, and pelicans fly into the embrace of the trees on the island.
And then at dawn, with the slow and certain coming of the light, the birds take off. The great pelicans on the topmost branches are awakened by the faint pale promise of dawn, circling the little lake that wraps their island. The sun is rising, and the waves of light are reaching the darkened roosts at the foot of the trees. There is an answering stir of white wings, and the ibis, herons, and egrets begin their takeoffs, singly and in groups. Straight, efficient, and precise, they spread their wings on hidden runways of the upper air to keep their appointment with the morning.
The Psalmist sang, "My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up."Ps. 5:3; Each morning, as the light begins to break, the gleams of truth can waken our thought—stir its folded wings. Through prayer we can spread our wings and rise on the winds of understanding and perception into the daylight hours of unfolding Truth and Life and Love. Just as the white-winged birds of the island do not resist the demands of the light but keep with graceful assurance their assignment with life's activities, so we can let divine Truth daily unfold to us its depths, its heights, its never-ending being, its certainty, its simplicity, and its profundity.
