It is not quite six a.m.,
fifty-eight degrees,
and the sun has just risen
over the hills behind our home.
The goldfinches and crossbills
hummingbirds and black capped chickadees
have been chattering since pre-dawn,
feeding and flitting in the ponderosa pines.
The deck I sit upon,
in my purple Adirondack chair,
is western in location,
so the cool of early morning
wends and winds around my bare legs, bare toes
Like a Siamese cat demanding attention.
God’s good morning kiss is soft
and cool as a breath of air
on my cheek
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