Words For a Morning

The water wears a halo of mist made gold by first light. Two swans write their waking on the soft glaze of a morning as if tracing psalms to anoint the coming day. They bow their heads gracefully. Clumsily, I bow mine. I can almost feel each word being transcribed across the tightened surfaces of my mind. I come to listen, to hear something sacred being said in a language I cannot decipher. It is agonizingly beautiful. Why am I so afraid ?