Blue Eyes Turn
[A Reflection]
Blue eyes turn, look high.
Under the cold watch of mountains
where mountains hymn to their Creator,
I ascend these sentinels one peak at a time.
Atop solitude’s mountain an eagle soars:
her eyes gaze into the eyes of Christ.
My heart desires to be as the eagle.
I leverage my strength, push for the next ledge,
wedge my feet into an icy crack.
I look at the snow, in front of my face
before me white floral beauties grow,
my mind bewildered in wonder gasps,
‘Here I am least alone amid ice blue sky.’
Blue eyes turn, search high,
above high peaks, naked stone at Earth’s edge,
tens of skies pass this day. Still the eagle soars.
Untroubled silence of the Most High God
wraps around these sentinels who hymn
the perfected Son who holds my breath.
There is no utterance but wind song,
rumblings when mountains speak.
Like the eagle, my nest is set among the stars,
deftly I climb - desire shrouds all defects.
Yet the cold watch of mountains stirs:
this white cathedral bathed in resplendent glory
now soaks in descending vapours.
Blue eyes turn, white clouds looming.
In a breath teeming snow, all is white,
snow reaches deep and dense above the knee,
ice shapes my face, blue eyes now blind.
Long are the hours, fierce is the striving
where fear lurks fatigue cramps my thinking,
‘Where is up? Where is down? Where to next?’
I lament flawed thoughts, self-willed feats.
Wayward paths unveil as snow gives way,
breath’s zest goes, my knees collapse,
veins without blood, my heart thumps hard,
sounds of gravity pound my ears. I cry out,
‘Christ, let this void not swallow me!’
Blue eyes turn, look down, despair.
The murmuring peaks watch an eagle fall.
These sentinels commune with Angels.
I travail till a snow-bridge cushions my fall.
The Spirit comes, shields my back, buoys faint knees,
revives numb hands, grapples with my breath.
My mind grasps the silence of praise.
God I trust. Love’s assurance grips my heart
I pray, ‘Christ, again have Your way with me’.
In reverent submission before the Cross,
resurrection’s power once more transforms.
The wind blows, God’s Spirit calls, guides my moves.
Blue eyes turn, look high.
© Craig A Roberts, 2024
Photo: AdobeStock
