Hum buzz under all I tune to, early blue sky day, after rain, pierced by the tea-kettle wren call, chickadee in major thirds, robin whistle “here, here, here I come”, a bluejay shriek tears the air. The squirrel scuttles on the rooftop, gruff snore of the very small dog, a jangle of metal tags from the other beast in the house, invisible in the dark announces readiness, shussssh of sheets, we move with our sighs, exhale the night, pad the wood floor and water pours. There are decibels in the breathing walls of this house, there are motors and rumblings, sirens of distress, in fingers tapping, our rustling waking bodies unfold and stretch in search of first words, there are lingering echoes of old songs, baby cries, the weeping of betrayals and simple befuddlements, laughter and the clink of glasses. Some mornings quiet as silk. Some, like today, awaken the sensational busy-ness of the world. Alive and thrumming, the kiss, a soft pop, says good morning.
Early Morning Poems 