Dry cycle

Whence withholding.
Night needs folding.
Midday limbo.
​Morn akimbo.

Birds tuck away.
Crow and jay,
Dark and quiet.
Unlike the riot
They do enjoy.

Then a song starts.
Finch know their parts,
While feathered otherlings
Hop and flit their tufted wings.

Stem and soil steaming
In early sun beaming.
The heat’s still on simmer.
Not yet think of dinner
Or noon’s bright arrival,

Just shrub seed rivals
And an easy breeze.
My heart this does squeeze
At the day’s promise.

One by one,
We nod to the sun
And mark its’ journey
While the day's still early.

​1/17/21