You step outside, barefoot on the wide plank porch,
soaking in the quiet of the morning, so early
the birds have not yet begun to sing, so early
the light is dim, like night,
and the air is still cool.
Soon, in a few hours, it will be steamy
and the day will turn slow
and the world will retreat
to air conditioned rooms
that protect them, but for now
you are here, and the air is clean and new,
and in the realness of the morning,
you can hear the creek, low and singing in the distance.
You feel the dew on your feet,
and the distant hum of the interstate.
You see the moon,
and wonder if she is awake as well,
perhaps standing outside, for you know
that she too is a creature of the morning.
You know this, for you have felt her presence,
like a satin blanket, warm and soft, next to you
on many such mornings, so real despite the distance,
that you lingered in bed, made more alive
by her presence that was not present,
except in spirit, soul and memory.
The first bird sings, and breaks the spell.
The first light breaks over the mountain,
and you see the clouds. It will rain today.
No matter, for you have felt her love,
distant, yet close, more real than the morning.
The photograph was taken at the Grand Canyon, early one morning. You may click on it to see a larger version.