Rising to the melancholy call
of the early mourning dove,
I watch the mist ascending across the river,
reminisce of ancient spirits visiting
from another place and time
Breezes whisper among the trees
the dry rustling of leaves
murmuring quietly to one another,
seemingly spectators without participation,
standing aloft in their haughtiness
Clouds on the horizon, red then pink
reflecting within the radiance
a spectrum of nature's beauty
in a blaze of golden glory
the rising sun encompasses all
I stand in awe.....