Seasoning


Dawn slips in slow notes
over the misted mountains,

Pied leaves
dance to their own rhythms;
photosynthesis is done for this year.

The leaves compete with pumpkins
for that perfect shade of orange
while white tail deer wear their russet coats
with pride.

Fresh faced morning
makes a lazy start. In this seasoning
Spring’s song has long been sung.
Now every dew drop holds a rainbow
and a mirror.

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Awaking to Sun

Dawn tiptoes across the shadowed land,
Hints of flame climb over the horizon,
She’s a shy girl emerging;
optimism comes to mind.

Daylight trumps darkness with an orchestral flourish.
The early birds looking for worms make the first song.
Robins and thrushes and those rascally blackbirds
begin the morning event. Then come the bug eaters;

Wrens, black caps and chiff chaff – poorer vision in lowlight.
Glasses might help but the demand for avian optometrists
has not been met.

Every society has its bankers: Under the guise
of needing more light to find seed,
sparrows and  finches arrive on the scene;

Some freshly suited — others straggle in uncombed,
their valets obviously have taken a day off–
They all chime in.

The semi from the highway contributes its rhythm,
Even a missed gear adds to the composition.
A dog barks, a door opens,

The scent of bacon and coffee brewing –
The kiss before the commute.
Morning begins in increments and over it all,
the sun.

The Moon and Dawn in Passing Nod

In the peace of contemplation
when night is comfortably astir,
the moon sneaks in my window
leaving streaks of silver
in my hair.

A multitude of memories
untouched by time’s extent
rise and swirl around me
like a candle’s drifting scent.

Shadows on the wall
sway to their own symphony,
drifting safely towards oblivion
as the pyrite moon is fading
into new morning light.