Thursday Thirteen 49: Early Morning, Early Evening

Quite early the other morning, I stepped out of bed and into a shaft of light pouring down the hall in a way that very much made me think of the long and slender petals of a flower. Which of course reminded me that it was August 31, the very end of what feels like summer though three weeks of summer remain. How I love early morning at this time of year...

1. ...because it is very quiet
2. and to break the peace of that quiet would be very much like shattering glass. Those of us who are awake are careful not to.
3. The soft light of morning comes to the earth at a gentler angle than ever it did in summer
4. and casts long and beautiful shadows of trees across the hills
5. so that the ridge lines circumscribe the great fires atop the hills
6. and you have to look up to know dawn has come.
7. The cool air breaths mist across the pond and the swamp,
8. and these low-flying clouds wrap themselves around the geese who slumber--
9. like everyone else--that bit longer in the soft down of dreams.
10. The yellow and red of the wildflowers puncture the mist with their color
11. and point the way down the road that has vanished, too.
12. Eventually, the sun will rise and offer the memory of summer heat
13. on the backs of the necks of those who dare play some more at the lunch hour and, of course, on the petals of the flowers.

Thursday Thirteen