Wednesday, June 11, 2014

The Quiet of the Morning

The first few steps pounded out on the pavement
Are miserably hard on the soles of my feet
And I ache all the way to the top of my head
And I feel like a jackhammer not a jogger
With legs as heavy as heavy machinery
And breathing loud as a logging truck
Belching out carbon monoxide.

I intrude upon the quiet of the morning.

Then the road is softened by one fluffy cottontail,
Her nose twitching with curiosity
Until she exits into the wayside brambles
Where dewberries abound and one is found
Sweet and tart on my tongue.

And a squirrel follows along in the canopy
Forming an overpass over my path
And becomes a distraction from the ache
Working its way out of my body.

And clearing the nettles in the meadow’s fast lane
A deer pronks and shows his own mettle
And I show mine as my legs are lightened.

And my breathing at first obtrusive
Intertwines with the breathing trees
And my soul sings with songbirds
And my sweat distills as dew on wild roses.

I am the quiet of the morning.