The dawn is peeking up over the hills
the wind is in for I see the birch bending,
waves fight their endless crusade of reaching the shore
I try to count them but keep losing site.
The sun is slow awakening the pink rosy buds of the Sheep Laurel;
Tiny white-throated sparrows emerge from under their veil, I’m sure they have been watching me for a while.
The Downy Woodpecker is early with its continuos pecking, I spot him
on the now decaying old spruce, I hear the melodious song of the robin, my eyes scan the tress but to no avail.
Not wanting to disturb the morning, with careful steps I venture
to find my beautiful rock that I have not yet named; slowly kneeling down I notice the small green berries and a quick thought that they will turn blue and plump with ripening.
There is a chill in the morning air and I am wishing I had brought a sweater.
Losing track of time I drink deep from the well of nature it refreshes my soul, and strengthens my heart.