At sunrise
Down in the village
men in scratchy woolen coats
and women with their hands
hidden inside rabbit fur muffs
have made their way to church.
Up on the hillside
the livestock need tending
as they did on Saturday
as they will on Monday.
I milk the cows wearing
a sweater and a hat my wife knit
from the wool of our own sheep.
Young acolytes yawn and fidget
in their starched white robes.
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
A shaft of light slips through
the slats of the old barn.
Thy kingdom come
Steam rises as warm milk
splashes into the frozen pail.
Thy will be done
Down in the village
little girls in their best dresses
run out into the snow.
Up on the hillside
the crisp cold air
makes my nose tingle.
On earth
as it is
in heaven.
Originally appeared 2006-09-11.