In the dark of night
the pine boughs
thresh
and sway.
Bare maple branches rest
against the light scrimmed
sky.
In the grey of morning
the silent streets
stride
down
to the lake’s
rhythmic rumble
and the sun’s path.
Waking
Tag: waking
Winter, 7:00 a.m.
I almost wake as I lumber
lurching on sleep-stiff ankles
and return to my night-warmed bed.
In the east, out the window,
I watch the pine boughs shift
and sway and still and shift.
Resting on the next street’s roofs
a pale gold light bleeds upward
behind the narrowing pine,
at the window’s top,
the sky’s grey-white
hints at blue.
Learning Living 