The Morning

The Lectern's Rise

In the fire, glowing, bright
A lamp; the glorious light

From the east is rising;
And darker shadows hiding

All that was yesterday;
A multitude goes away

And birds with wider wings,
Unfold for another king

Has in the almanac to rule,
A day for all his people

Are living while thy giving
Is all there is for recieving

Thy heart a generous store
With death continue thy war!

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The entire campground is still slumbering this morning.

perhaps I’ve risen a bit too soon?

But it has provided me the opportunity

to listen to the moon.


There are no sounds of people

no children running around.

There is only the light of a waxing moon

and I find myself listening to the sounds…


It’s too dark to take a morning walk

so I sit basking in the moon’s glow

And I listen as, from high above, she conducts her morning music

soft and low.


The crickets who she conducted to play fast and loud last night

Allegretto….Crescendo …Prestissimo

realize the concerts almost over 

as she conducts them soft and slow.


The morning breeze and trees perform together.

There is percussion all around.

The soft cymbals of the rustling leaves…

falling branches drumbeat to the ground….


Then out of this peaceful symphony 

the moonlight settles on the wing

of one bird…and one bird only

as the moon conducts her now to sing.


And I revel in the harmony and the beauty

And feel lucky I’ve risen so soon

blessed to sit in the darkness


and listen to the moon.

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It happens every morning in the mountains a little after 5.

The weary evening begins to ebb and the morning comes alive.


The stars, the moon and the dark of night are all fading

There’s a stillness in the air…

and in the silent tranquil interlude…you gradually become aware


that you’re about to witness one of natures awe-inspiring gifts…

You watch the ebony blanket of evening slowly start to lift…


and out of the evening’s residue the morning begins to peek…

and somewhere in the darkness…the first bird begins to speak…


She clears her throat at first, and I imagine, flaps her wings

then stands up tall upon her branch and sings and sings and sings.


Then another bird begins to sing…her original morning song

until the mountain is a chorus of birds…harmoniously singing along.


As the night pulls back her blanket…the day can now expand

and you barely have time to catch your breath as sunlight glides across the land. 


Every space that was cloaked in darkness is now bejeweled in light

and you smile at how magically…day has replaced the night.


And you feel lucky you were there to witness…this brand new day arrive…

And blessed to have experienced the wonder…


when the morning comes alive.


I love to watch the morning…to sit out in the breeze…

and watch the clouds caress the mountains

and leaves billow on the trees.


The bats, who only the night before

were trying hungrily to be fed,

see the light and now with bellies full

are heading off to bed.


The crickets, who in the darkness

were the loudest sounds that could be heard,

are ready to relinquish their melody

to the singing of the birds.


And the birds, who soundly slept the night away,

now slowly open their eyes

and, realizing it’s morning,

stretch their wings and fly.


The morning fills her canvas beautifully…

painting trees and mountains and glens…

then, not satisfied with her first attemp,

paints them all again.


In fact she never seems too happy

with her painting at first sight

as she’s constantly changing brush strokes…

Moving shadows…shifting light.


Yes I could sit our here all morning

watching the morning adjust her hue…

listening to the ever changing sounds around me…

in fact…

I think that’s just what I will do.





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