Re-fueling

I woke up late this morning,

That's not something that I do,

I have a good internal alarm.

For some unknown reason

I kept on catching ZZ's,

Maybe 'cause I was all nice and warm.

The dogs were surely wondering

Why I hadn't let them out

But, they were being quiet and I am glad;

Now they're out there howling

At nothing I can see

And we had to get on to them like they're bad

When really, that's just what dogs do.

It's their job to bark and howl

At the things that don't belong --

It's the way they tell you they are hard at work

On their patrol about the yard --

It’s just them singing out their working song

While here I sit, just typing

On this nonsensical rhyme

As I get the coffee flowing in my blood.

But, now I've reached a point

Where I'm running out of words

So, I'll just go get another cup of mud.

Morning Rising

Hazy, silent morning

With the mist hanging,

Muting,

Obscuring

The distant line of trees

In enveloping softness,

Holding,

Filtering

The first rays of light

In spreading pinkish hues

Diffusing,

Morphing

The stillness of night

Into the vibrancy of day.

All Is Well

Clinging to the ground,

The soft white blanket

Shrouds the distant creek bottom

In mystery

And silence

As the rising ball of fire in the east

Approaches the lifting curtain

Of morning.

All is well.

"May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through.  May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.  The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it." -- 1 Thessalonians 5:23-24

Morning Sounds

There is something about the early morning light

To delight

The senses

As fluttering wings hint

At the source

Of cheerful sounds filling the air

In notes that

Override

The background drone

Of insects buzzing their constant

Tones.

Heavy,

Humid,

Warm

Air saturated with the scents

Of blooming trees

Mutes

The stirring sounds of neighbors

Waking.

Even in this neighborhood where people surround --

Hidden

Within their caves

Of brick and wood,

Protected from that which would

Overtake them

If not for the constant battle

Against --

Is life;

Thriving

In a world of concrete

And asphalt.

Groundhog Shadows

I step into the darkness
Here at the end of night
And behold in the near distance
A faintly glowing light

On the back porch of a neighbor
Less than a block away
And I feel the misty silence
Of this cool and foggy day.

It's as though I've been enshrouded
In a pearlescent veil
That reveals a world of wonder
Like some far Arabian tale.

The sense of one transported
To the center of a cloud
Floating far above the planet
And the ever maddening crowd

Fills me with a peacefulness
That rests upon my mind
Until my thoughts are bubbling
And quickly there I find

The sun won't soon be shining
Though the dawn is oh, so near
But, I know there'll be no shadow
On Groundhog Day this year.

Just Before Dawn

It's a crisp, clear morning
'Neath the twinkling light
Of a million stars
That brighten the night
And all is quiet
In this this pause before dawn
As I button my coat
And stifle a yawn
While peace soaks into
This weary old soul,
Recharging the batteries
To chase the next goal.
Between coffee and cold
The blood begins flowing;
Another day starting
As I stand there knowing
That God has created
This wondrous sight
At the edge of releasing
A new day of light.

Waking Up

Some mornings it seems really hard
To get myself in gear;
It's like a cloud hangs over me
And sleep seems oh, so dear.

But I drink a cup of coffee
And then a couple more,
Put on my boots, my hat and coat
And head right out the door

Into the frosty morning
With stars still shining bright
And the silence that surrounds me
Before the breaking light

Where my body slowly wakens
To the wonder that I meet
Or, maybe it's responding
To the obvious lack of heat

As I climb into my pickup
And crank the heater up to high
'Cause I need to check the cattle
Whose calving time is nigh.

There's ice to break and hay to feed
And maybe a new life
Born upon a frigid morn
Amidst the birthing strife.

And the sweat begins to trickle
'Neath the heavy clothes I wear
So I roll down my window
To let in some cool air

Then pausing in my labor
I begin to realize
That right there in the eastern sky
A brilliant sunrise

Has turned the frozen blades to crystal
And in spite of all the cold
I stand and look in wonder
At the colors painted bold

And know that I have wakened
Fully to the rising day
As I climb back in the pickup
And head on my merry way.

Barking Dogs

For some reason the dogs won't stop barking this morning.  They are outside dogs and the self-declared guardians of our backyard.  I've no idea what got them started and a check outside wasn't particularly illuminating since the sun hasn't yet risen.  They generally respond to a whistle and admonition to be quiet, but this morning their memory of the rebuke lasted less than 30 seconds and they returned to their chorus.

Most days it doesn't bother me that they want to greet the morning, complain about the cat that was prowling the neighborhood the night before, or send unheeded messages to the opossum that partook of their dog food during the dark hours, but Saturdays are a day that many like to "sleep in" and I hate for my dogs to be the reason for the undesired interruption of the neighbor's slothfulness.  In spite of contradictory evidence, there is a streak of compassion that runs in my blood.

My early rising isn't so much a habit as it is a conviction.  I have chosen to discipline myself to a somewhat regular start to my day because the early hours are my most productive.  I find that work completed later in the day is often less than my best although I believe at the time that it is at the same standard as I self-impose at all other times.  However, often upon review the next day, I find it to be mistake-ridden and not what I would desire and find myself correcting errors that seem to creep in unbidden.

Interruption of my routine sometimes makes me grouchy.  I recognize it when it occurs and attempt mitigation in the form of a mental re-set, however it often catches me unaware and I respond uncharacteristically to some comment or action that doesn't fit my expectations.  That admission is revealing of the fact that leaving me alone is frequently the best course when I am wandering upon higher ground and out of the ruts that provide comfort to my existence.  Higher ground, for me, may merely be a perception that I am seeking a better path when in fact I am wandering in the wilderness.  Oh, well.

Ruts -- routine -- can be important.  The familiar provides comfort as we find ourselves spinning the gerbil wheel that comprises most days.  It is the music in our headphones as we jog the same paths, pound the same treadmill, or drink from the same coffee cup.  It is the diversion from a realization that progress is illusive and without change, we merely exist.

Change on the other hand is disruptive.  It is a "pied piper" that draws us onward into the new and unknown.  Once we are upon that path we no longer desire the distraction of the music in our ears, but we are focused on moving forward.  We desire companions upon the path of progress, not those who would take us comfortably back into our well-worn and ever deepening ruts.  Again, sometimes it is best to just let me be, lost in my delusional mental fog, for mornings are my "thinking" time.

Barking dogs are noise to be ignored. 

Misty Serenity

The early morning mist
Rising over the coolness
Evokes a serenity of place
That contradicts
The activity of the day.
Muffled sounds punctuate
The stillness yet are unable
To displace the peacefulness.
A perfect start to the week.

Uncommon

This morning was beautiful as I rose early to a temperature around 50 degrees. There was light rain during the night and the air is clear, cool and moist. The pastures are green with flowers peeking everywhere; the wheat is heavy with grain before the ripening; the corn is quickly growing and there are cattle belly-deep in grass almost everywhere I turn. This to me, is the most beautiful time of year in the Texas Panhandle.

The morning mists
Are darkened shadows
Hanging in the dips
And valleys of the Plains
Which stretch onward
For miles in all directions
From my vantage on
The high flat ground.
The meadowlark's
Twee-phut-weee trills
In the otherwise silent
Coolness of the day
Before the common stirring
Begins.