Poem: At Six

At Six

You lay in bed,
warm under the quilt,
listening to the morning arrive,

the sound of birds announcing the sun,
the moan of a bitter wind from the mountain,
and the rustle of trees, shivering.

You listen to distant traffic,
the noise of distant lives beginning their day.

You listen to the cacauphony in your head,
hopes, fears, failures, wonderings
at the puzzle of your life,

a puzzle not yet complete,
the picture still half formed, barely
showing the journey you are on,

and you lay under the quilt for another moment,
hoping for sleep,
for peace,
for dreams.

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The picture was taken near the Peaks of Otter, along the Blue Ridge Parkway. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom