The first shaft of luminous light
travels, its speed unthinkable
Over the horizon, through the trees,
And into my open eyes.
Birds hop about, like people,
Trying to find a good
Perch, branch, position
In life. Satisfied, they begin their
Throaty chorusing, declaring
only the best.
Window open, the maple and oak
Scent drifts like it has done
For millions of years, a crisp
Beginning to the significance
Of the day, three hundred and
Sixty-five rotations a year,
Time's luck which decides so much.
As after a rainstorm,
Water has never smelled so sweet.
During the time between dreams
And reality, air has never
Tasted so good.
Chapel Hill, North Carolina
