My neighbor pushes his trash container to the curb…. beating a tune to uneven concrete.
The limp leaves hang whisperless in this windless, sticky morning.
The usually yammering Robins, for reasons of their own, observe a moment of silence.
A good still morning.
Trees cast hundred foot shadows.
Fresh sunlight splatters their shade.
The dry grass winces a dew-less greeting to the sun.
A good bright morning.
I inhale my chest full, then watch it fall.
I greet the waking up day.
What tiny, slow moving adventures await?
A good morning to be alive.
A great morning to live.
Tim sold his business, retired to write and discovered that wasn’t very retired at all. He ghost blogs, writes poetry, nonfiction and an occasional magazine piece. He loves writing and wishes he had not waited decades to pick up the pen. Send emails to firstname.lastname@example.org and visit www.imaginiscent.net