Soft Morning

It is a soft morning.  

Within the cradle of the mountains, the wind is a cool sigh.

Light licks the landscape with laces of gold against a pastel pink sky. 

The waning moon washes away like a photograph worn at the edge. 

Cactus ghosts creep up the mountainside pale grey and green

Silvery needles like a sprinkling of fairy dust. 

 

Are there fairies here? 

 

Sprites swirl like leaves in the creek sparkling as they leap

Pebble to stone, too quick for my eye to see, too soft for my ear to hear.

It is a land of ancient whispers, reptilian and rough, prickly and pointed,   

My senses drown in the defiant beauty that flows deep to my heart.

The sun tops the mountain, sharpening the day, warming my face. 

In the mountain’s embrace anything can happen.

4 Comments

  1. Comment by Sally

    Posted on January 11, 2010 at 12:14 am

    Sounds like you found “home”.

    I see a definite shift in your writing.

    I love “Soft Morning”.
    so beautiful.

  2. Comment by Sally

    Posted on January 11, 2010 at 12:14 am

    Sounds like you found “home”.

    I see a definite shift in your writing.

    I love “Soft Morning”.
    so beautiful.

  3. Comment by Anonymous

    Posted on January 12, 2010 at 7:56 pm

    thank you Sally. Truly I am home.

  4. Comment by Anonymous

    Posted on January 12, 2010 at 7:56 pm

    thank you Sally. Truly I am home.

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