Morning Poem

Some poem was working in my mind this early morning before I got out of bed. Sometimes they will almost completely write themselves for me before I can get the tips of my fingers to the keyboard. I should have been paying attention to the words, tried a little harder to hang on to them, but, sadly, they have now left me. Maybe they will come back, but I don’t think so. I think the lines had to do with weather and the season changing. When I first got out of bed, the house had a slight chill to it, enough to make me turn on the gas fireplace before looking out the window into the forest.

When the sun is up over the tree tops in another hour, I will find life easier to sing about. The warmth that comes adds such life to this place. Flowers unfold and look brighter, small birds stir near their sunflower feeder in greater number, and I come outdoors to feel the glowing light in my face. October still has a lot of promise in it of days to enjoy that have a tinge of the summer feel. I think that was the theme of the poem running through my head this early morning, though the words were quite different than this. There was mention of gold, red, brown, fallen leaves, wind rushing through the redwoods, and something having to do with the stack of freshly-picked apples on the kitchen counter.

If I went back to bed for another hour and just let my imagination whisper to my pillow, some of the lost poetry could return to me, but then, some of the day would be lost too! I want the life of the day more than I do the invention of the poem, so I shall choose to remain awake. Maybe in the afternoon, when I know the day has warmed up pretty good, I’ll go take a little cat nap on the beach and see if some of the right words might return. I’m afraid though that the sound of waves collapsing on shore may confuse everything I thought to say.

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