Early mornings

I meant to post this yesterday - I wrote it when someone asked me why I got up so early:

Mellow is the quiet that I get
in the morning, before they rise,
in the morning, before they rise,
that's the time, that's the time,
I love the best.

Peaceful is the color of the time
in the morning, before they rise,
in the morning, before they rise,
that's the time, that's the time,
I love the best.

Calm is the feeling that I get
in the morning, before they rise,
in the morning, before they rise,
that's the time, that's the time,
I love the best.

(apologies to Donovan)

Feels like I'm mostly well now. Maybe it's safe to get back to the diet. We'll see.

The Puca


Dark the horse that flies over the silent hills,
his gallop beating through the night
like the sound of fear.
Dancing in the wheat, stallion he,
with no respect for hard work and hungry mouth,
Fences concern him not, as he crashes through
leaving more work behind.
Beware, you who walk the road at night,
for in his mad joy, he will come like the wind
and knock you into the ditch, for the sheer doing of it.
Don't forget to leave him his bit when harvest comes,
Or you will feel his ire even more.

This morning,
a snow palace sits in my back yard,
roofed with finest grey leaded clouds,
columned with white capped spruce,
the lacy white adorned fingers
of walnut branches
reaching upward.
White, pristine, the snow carpet,
piled up high,
well over the top of my boot.
Music provided by the orchestra
of Juncos, Finches, Pinesiskens
waiting for their sunflowery pay.
Ah, Winter!
In these moments before I have to face
the roads and the ice
I can appreciate your loveliness.