Most mornings, especially the beautiful ones, there is a moment, a stillness. As the horizon blooms ahead of the rising sun, the world seems to hush. On nature’s inhale, birds take to the air, rushing from their roosts in the trees to their work in the sky. Criss-crossing the brightening dawn, they trace a web of myriad intentions. A minute of sleepy hurriedness before the flashing amber light of daybreak. Then, the sky melts to blue, the world moves again. They are gone.
One of the best things about swimming early in the morning is the things I see that I would have missed if I’d been elsewhere. This poem is about one such moment. One I have witnessed often enough to know it is a real and daily event.
Having written some diabolical poetry in my life, I am on a slow mission to improve. I know it is a subjective and truly individual thing; how it sounds in the minds of readers. So, my goal is poetry that I like the sound of and, that satisfies me. If others like it too, excellent.
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