West Coast Morning, 1991

Waking up to an overflow of freshly squeezed sunlight

filtering  steadily through a mesh of thick green

I am held by the calm of morning, perfectly still,

Examining the puzzle pieces of blue sky

visible from my top bunk perch.

Curious eyes jump out the window,

While my body stays half sleeping.

I want to be a drop of dew on the top of a Douglas fir

To befriend the forest, absorbed like rain by the burgeoning soil

or escaping into a playful gust of wind

flying through a tapestry of branches,

listening to the low whispered conversations

taking place between the trees

From my monochrome bedroom

the aroma of coffee arouses my senses .

I hear the sound of my mother

her hand to a hundred tasks in the solace of morning.

She welcomes  the new day on behalf of us all

politely opening a window

inviting in the morning air.

It dances its graceful tango through our little house,

all of its sleeping inhabitants to revive

I can feel it gently stroking my arm, brushing it’s cheek against my own.

I shiver and smile gladly,

happy to have such kindred friends in the beings of nature

arriving to greet me at first rising

on a West Coast morning.

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