Magic of the Morning

Photo by Paul VanDerWerf via Flickr. Used under Creative Common license.

. . .

Long before Dawn's early light,

The cricket songs had become dim

As the hoot of the owl faded into the night.

With vibrant green buds upon every limb

Tall willows sway in the breeze.

Now I meander my way through.

My fingertips linger upon the coarse bark of the trees.

Dewdrops dampen my soil-covered toes.

The diurnal inhabitants of the meadow are stirring all around.

One crow from the rooster and, with the sun, I rose.

Digging my toes into the moistened sandy soil upon the ground

I inhale the early morning fragrance of wildflowers.

Blue Jay swoops and swirls overhead.

A flash of blue disappears into the velvety-soft, petal-laden bowers.

My ears are accustomed to the nocturnal creatures' morning lullaby.

As they turn in for the day,

I observe them cozying up, so high.

There is still so much they want to say.

'Good night and good morning to all the creatures abound!'

Relaxing against the solid trunk behind me, I whisper with a sigh.

Wary of disturbing their goings-on.

I step gently, reluctant to make any sound,

Wandering on farther until the brook I am past.

Gazing behind me at the foraging deer, and the shadow I cast.

Yet before me, my destination, so I quicken my pace.

The looming tower of stone lies ahead,

Arriving, I attune myself to the power humming from within.

Amber-scented wisps of fog emerge as I rise upon the cold stone tread,

Fortifying my courage for the tasks that lie beyond.

Their whispers, trickling down like rivulets seeping between the stones.

With a steadying breath, I inhale the sweet aroma and withdraw my wand.

~

This was originally published on Medium.

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