Retreat: first morning

Another first draft . . .

As I look out through the leaded panes
of the seaward window of my room or, maybe, cell,
a pale sun filters through the leafless branches
of the clifftop trees; early morning, low tide,
with oystercatchers and turnstones prospecting the shoreline,
the sudden black and white of their flurried wings.
Sheltered by gothic walls, I am where I need to be,
though not entirely from choice. I am here
because I will have things to do, and need to be prepared,
or maybe because God has things to do with me,
in the interplay of trying and being tried
to which we give the title ‘retreat’.
This is my week’s shelter from the world, yet not a place to hide
nor any admission of defeat. I am here
to confront in me what needs to change
and to confirm what needs to grow;
I am here because it is right to be here,
where the tide runs softly over the pebbled sand,
while the sun lifts over the winter trees
to lose itself as a smear of brightness in the soft clouding
of this new day. I am here because of the love
that has claimed me and will not leave me, here
to slow things down to the tempo of my own heart,
and to align myself to the peaceful rhythm
of the praise and prayer of this house.
And I am here because of where I shall be next,
to know here the close-breathing presence of my Lord
that I may know him too where he will be, there.
The chapel bell rings softly, half-hidden behind the calls
of curlew and gull; on this silvered morning
my healing time begins.