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.

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