We were walking with friends
behind their Minnesota farmhouse,
Fields of cornstubble stretching to the winter gray horizon.
Suddenly from under our feet–
a heart stopping flash —
All feathers and noise and wings–
A vision of gold calling in alarm.
With our pulses pounding,
we watched the pheasant disappear.
We laughed at our fear
And marveled at the beauty and wonder
of what we had seen.
This must be what the shepherds felt
In a field a long time ago,
When they flushed
A covey of angels.
–The Course of Our Seasons, AuthorHouse Publishing 2011