Such an Extravagance of Extraordinary Beauty

Such an extravagance
Of extraordinary beauty.

Imagine it.

Stand,
If you will,
Just before daybreak,
In darkness
Nearly absolute,
On a covered footbridge,
Midway
Between either bank
Of a rushing mountain stream.

Stand
Looking to the east
Just as a sheen,
Only a promise
Of the light that is to come,
Covers the sky
And begins to bring
Relief
To the inky blackness.

Listen
To the water
Beneath you,
Rushing on,
Waiting on nothing,
But all the same,
Inadvertently making music
On the stones
In its transit.

Stand.
And listen.

Watch.
And wait.

Wait upon
The steady
And relentless increase
Of this burgeoning light.
At its whim,
The sky
Transforms to blue,
Shifts to pink,
Splashes to orange.

And with each
Passing moment's
Slow
And steady
Progression
Of increasing light,
The mountains take shape.
The trees become silhouettes.
The stream becomes a mirror.

Having witnessed,
Turn away.

Turn
And walk
The short distance
Just to the other side
Of the covered bridge.
Look upon
An aspect
Afforded
By the opposite direction.

It is there
In what,
Heretofore,
Has been behind you
That the true measure
Of the extravagance
Of such extraordinary beauty
Is finally and fully
Realized.

It is there,
Behind you,
That the full,
But subsiding,
Moon
Likewise
Gives shape to the mountains,
Defines the prickly outlines of the trees,
Makes of the stream a mobile plane of moon-dappled light.

Now,
Look away
From it all.
Look up.
There,
High above the mountaintop,
High above the trees thereon,
High above the singing waters,
The morning star presides.

One perfect
Pristine
Pin-prick
Of appointed
Light.