In the quiet of the dark, I arose. I arose to pitch black slid to grey, hoping for a water color wash. I looked up, hoping for rosy dawn, but did not find her. The impatiens on my balcony opened, one bud at a time, as I sprinkled life-giving water over them.
The birds arose early morning, soon creating a clatter of song, cacophony to some, but music to me. I heard Chickadee's mating call, Grackles and Starlings chatter, a Mourning Dove plaintive's cry. In the distance, the Scooch-Scooch of the Pheasant.
The sky, moments before, a grey paste, broke into an arpeggio scale of pastels: pink, orange and peach, the color of my impatiens, and the sun slid imperceptibly over the horizon, peeking at the day.


Comments: 63
Wonderful!
Excellent prose poem.
I am not a morning person, but your poem makes me wish that I was. Next time that I must rise early, I will pay attention to the budding dawn.
dianne
Thank you Bhawana.
way to wake up
What a wonderful picture your poem paints!
Thanks for sharing!
thanks all. Hoping for a good dawn tomorrow; or the next day.
So colorful and serene.
The sun peeks at the day
The rain clouds are on the way,
To give a sprinkle of rain
And add more color to the impatien.