A Winter Dawn

The sky a light grey slate
Upon which the birds write
In curved black letters-
The morning cold
Making the world alive-
The last shreds of fog
Retreating from the pond
Into nothingness-
A bluejay on a branch
Bowing toward the path
Cocking his head slightly-
A squirrel with his mouth full
Scrabbling among the leaves-
Trees standing calmly
Resting yet aware
Of those passing beneath-
A flock of sparrows
Breaking fast upon the meadow
Rising in waves
Then settling slowly, fitfully
Only to rise again-
The unseen musician
Playing a flute, sweet and clear
Now high and inspiring
Now low and soulful-
The poet laughing silently
Tears in her eyes.
You are coming home today...

--Megan Morris, meikundayo@yahoo.com