Brief Moments
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In that brief solitary hour
From when sun first raises its reluctant head
above the near horizon
And hoists above the treetops,
There are a few brief moments of magic.
Birds have ceased their pre-dawn chatter
And not yet begun their raucous cries
Of territorial domain.
Sunday morn declares a day of rest
With blankets pulled over heads
Of Christians having given up the practice.
Nonetheless, a magic time,
When things align to bring a moment’s peace.
Silence reigns while the day’s promise
Of rising temperature and humidity
Gain full traction in their climb.
I sit here, coffee in hand
And think about times of long ago
When all the days were magic,
The birds all stilled
And the sun caught in its course.
