Poetry

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It is morning...

The sun's rays
Are warming the earth...
The last wispy fingers of fog
Are creeping 'round the mountain's base.

Flowers have awakened
To paint the hillsides...
As if God has tipped his paintbox...
Orange and white have splattered here and there.

It is morning for the world.

It is morning for me...
The sun caresses my face
And warms me inside.

I breathe in the day...
Holding it possessively in my lungs,
For fear of letting it go.
It is crisp and cold...

My spirit circles and dances and sings
Up there with the gulls...
For the moment, my home is a brilliant blue sky...
Vaults of wind and space propel my movement...


I understand the song the gulls sing.

The ocean is deep and blue...
Full of sparkling diamonds
And foamy caps of white...
My spirit races across the surface of the water
With the quickening waves.

I understand the mysterious song of the tides.

For this brief moment in time,
All of life makes sense to me...
The rhythm of the earth and my own existence
Make sense to me.

Night will fall again...

For now, it is morning.

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