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.