Morning Song

She paces gently across the grass, Knowing its patterns well. She takes the form of small and large, Makes homes where they choose to dwell. She whispers gently through the wind. Her soft breath fills my ears, Prompting me to look across the expanse. The sight nearly brings me to tears. Her production spans various mediums, Audio and visual alike. The blaze of the sun makes contact first, Delivering a fast, clear strike. It pierces deftly through the clouds, And illuminates all that falls below; At the whim of the matriarch, a novel scene: The Earth wrapped in an effervescent glow. The dewdrops reflect the rays about. They passively paint the car window— A new lens through which to view the world. I can only awe at what I’m shown. Clear blue skies carry with them a scent: Petrichor of rainfall past. The melodic chorus of birds chirps out: Morning has come at last!