The first shaft of luminous lighttravels, its speed unthinkableOver the horizon, through the trees,And into my open eyes.Birds hop about, like people,Trying to find a goodPerch, branch, positionIn life. Satisfied, they begin theirThroaty chorusing, declaringonly the best.Window open, the maple and oakScent drifts like it has doneFor millions of years, a crispBeginning to the significanceOf the day, three hundred andSixty-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 dreamsAnd reality, air has neverTasted so good.