THE AWAKENING descends the tall, thin trees in front of me,
as the golden light first peeks then rises above the bowl we visit.
My fire, just a few shards of wood minutes ago, started with an ember, now
crackles with enthusiasm, its rising heat casting shadows on gravel and grass.
Nearby, a woodpecker rhythmically hunts, goldfinches play, and others sing
morning songs as the hot coffee I sip chases away the cobwebs in my head.
A group of hungry deer wander on to a ridge not far above,
and pay me no more mind than I do them.
Far down past the trees mist rises off the water of the lake,
man-made, its rock cliffs an example of ingenuity, and yet still Godly.
Mid-yesterday eight children joyously played and were pulled across its surface.
This Sunday morning everyone sleeps, my fire, my feathered friends,
and dripping dew the only assault on my ears.
I am not lonely, and I can’t help but smile.