If I had been asleep, I'd have missed the first blush of morning, the young deer picking seed out of the snow with velvet lips, the cardinals chitting in twisted vines.
I wouldn't have felt the still cold settle into my skin, sharp and steady like a long needle; I wouldn't have held my chin over a cup of PG Tips, steam misting the air before my face, fogging my glasses.
Before the neighbors turned on their lights, even before the songbirds gathered in the redbud tree, I waited, patient for the light to rise, pink, then bloom robin's egg blue.
No comments:
Post a Comment