Friday 55 – Early Morning

It’s a quarter to five,

still dark outside

and I can’t sleep.

There’s a perfect half moon

and a sky full of stars.

An owl hoots.

I can’t tell if the moon

is waxing or waning.

Waiting for the coffee to brew

I can’t tell if I

am waxing or waning.

Just another long day.  

NaPoWriMo – Day #7

Otis ear up1

It’s gray and foggy this morning
but the birds are still insisting
we get up and face the day.

Otis, my Jack Russell terrier,
is blind;
has been since he was a pup.
He’s learned where things are
through his other senses.

He goes out in the mornings
and feels for the sidewalk
to lead him back to the house.
There are four steps
up to the front door.
But sometimes the cat
sits on the steps and blocks his way.

He knows the layout
inside the house,
but sometimes
when I come home from work,
or someone knocks at the door,
he gets so excited he loses his bearings
and runs into a door frame
or a piece of furniture.

He hears the morning birds calling
and perks up;
he wags his tail
and wriggles his body
ecstatically,
then flops over for a belly rub.

He doesn’t know
it’s a depressing, gray day.

NaPoWriMo #20

I am up before the birds.
Strange, when I used to sleep late,
loving the feel of my bed,
of sun streaming in the window.
I luxuriated in sleep,
resented waking.

But now I love
to be up before the sun
in the quite of the morning,
when it’s still more like night,
before the birds chorus
or the demands of the day.

This morning
last night’s the full moon
greets me.
It’s reflected
in the glass table top
next to my chair
and I set my coffee beside it.
The house is still, and chilled
but I am warm,
wrapped in my robe
with faithful Otis at my side.
This time, each day,
is like a secret I cherish.
Please don’t tell.

I love starting the day sitting with my dog, Otis, before the demands of the day. I hope you have an equally good start to your day. Cheers.

Mary’s Morning

Morning blessings
as I count them:
wake
stretch
greet the sun

both smell and taste
of coffee
steaming in my favorite mug,
the one Darrell made,
that fits smooth
in the curve of my hand

sitting and fitting
with Otis
my sweet dog
in our favorite chair

and
writing
a few words
while the day is still new

This is for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where we are asked to write something keeping the words of Mary Oliver in mind, “It mustn’t be fancy.”
Mary Oliver’s passing leaves me so very sad, yet mindful of little wonders all around.