Morning Rising

The light swells beyond the edge of the sky.


The ink sketched world

Slowly blooms again with color.


The fears that live in the dark,

Slide back with the retreat of the night.


I rise.


I was down,





Now I rise up.


I meet the gaze of those fears and they retreat.


My ink-sketched soul

Slowly blooms again with color.


I rise up.


I stretch, slowly and creakingly,

And the fears of the night retreat as I expand.


I rise up!


Rise up!


Rise up!


Here we go.


Perfect Day

Perfect day.


A sky of lead,


Then dropping

Silver shaded water,

Sometimes in misty drizzles,

Sometimes in sheets of frigid wet.


The air bites

With early autumn teeth,


But not dangerous.


The world is gray,






The chilly rain speaks,

In it’s watery voice,

Of warm coats

And colorful blankets,

Fires to gather around

And covers to burrow into late at night.


The nipping air carries imagined memories

Of rich and weighty foods

Shared around a table,



And freshly baked breads to soak the juices.


The sullen clouds hide skies

That grow ever sharper

As the haze of late summer gives way

To the clarity and sharpness of winter.


Every one of those thoughts marks me a person of privilege,


Blessed to have warm clothes,

And covers to burrow into,

And enough rich food to eat,

And loved ones to share it all with.

Others don’t have those things.

For them Winter is a stalking beast.


This leaden, chilly, rainy day reminds me of that as well.


It’s important that I not forget.


Important to remember the blessings and the needs.


Perfect day.