In the morning, early morning

I watch color begin to detail the sky

and the darkness leaves in puzzle pieces,

revealing what withstood the night

There is a fading into the bland comfort of morning

subdued by water vapor rising off the ponds

and waltzing slowly amidst the wandering hyacinth...

A turtle marks his presence with target-shaped ripples

The trees are revealed as a wall of living impenetrability

hiding from me the cold, simplistic road that neither knows nor cares I'm here

 I hear the affirmations of ravens to each other in the tall pines just outside the window

where they gather to await their private signals from the day

A silty dirt path makes its way around the water

Soft ribbon of paleness across a broken carpet of dew-drenched greens

and seagulls rise to celebrate new hope and new beginnings

while shorebirds skip along the baffles, examining those things which are fascinating only to them

A tall heron stands sentry, still, focused, patient, zen

There are fish which are happy knowing only what fish may know

and the clouds overhead presage a change in the forecast

After tonight's bright pattern of stars, what will the morrow show?

Even if it rains, the day is renewed just as the earth

Dark skies do not mean the night will never end

and the gleam of wetness pulls light out of the lingering gloom

enhancing rich colors and fresh fragrances that were hidden by bright sun the day before

The grey, the in-between, dusk and twilight, crepuscular, sepulchral

brings relief no matter where or when it occurs

Either a call to awaken or to rest and re-establish

Time is cyclical and we are all, all of us, under its spell