Aubade

Misty May morning greets me: soft music
of rain’s rhythm taps on our sunroom windows.

I open the ones untapped; the room fills with scent
of wet grass, wet mulch, peony blooms.  Steam

of hazelnut coffee mixes in.  A string of birdsong
necklaces the trees with bright beads of joy.

The sky is streaked watercolors, gray and white,
spilling onto a world so green it squints the eye.

I hear a train’s distant whistle, the whiz of a car
on Rt. 33.  The working world is stirring.  I stir

my coffee, say good morning to Charlie.  He drapes
his arm around my shoulder and softly taps my skin.

9 thoughts on “Aubade

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