image from upcscavenger.com
“Morning has broken, like the first morning.
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.”
6:45 am, awakened by the ping of the sprinklers
being activated--and the thrush-thrush-thrush of the
sweet water sings me to my feet. Our temps already
in the the 90’s, the Pacific Northwest is sweltering,
and tender lawns need watering before the heat
blasts. With my wife traveling in Europe, I am the
one who must tend to our old tomcat at the back door
at the first sound of stirring within. His guttural plea
wafts like a crowing to neighbors.
I sit for a few precious minutes on our deck, sipping
tea, enjoying the brisk breeze, stimulating the lovely
leaves to dance on the huge old maple across the
fence. I shower quickly, wolf down some fruit and
yogurt before heading out the door, I have planned
a photography junket up valley in old town Kent,
before the onerous heat & oppressive traffic will
drive me back to my a/c & waiting computer.
The large maple leaves
dance & undulate in the
early morning’s stir.
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--Haibun