Each morning

begins a little slower

than the last.

 ~

I wander outside,

early,

which is my custom.

Orion’s Belt hangs above me,

lazy,

in no hurry to head west.

 ~

The sun takes its time rising,

pacing itself for the long journey south.

 ~

As the day slowly heats up

the smell of sage and leaves

fills the air

and I make my way around –

setting things in order

for the coming cold.

And the geese,

sure signs of change…

I hear them calling

far to the east, near the sunrise

~

I stand still,

struck quite dumb

as they move west over my head

honking,

their wings stirring up the atmosphere above me

 ~

They’re hurrying,

always hurrying

to some important destination.