Morning in March

When sleep will not stretch
‘til morning, I slip downstairs
and wait for dawn to drift over
the horizon. As usual, the cats are up,
wanting to be fed, while the dog snores
in his crate, even when I open the door.
He’s old and prefers to sleep late.
I gather vitamins, pour a glass of milk,
slice a banana, and settle onto my sofa.
The sky is dark, but not too dark.
The moon is fading to the west.
The stars are already gone. I wait –
listening to chimes on the patio,
watching the day come to life.
First colours change – slate grey to pewter.
Then shapes sharpen. Twigs on trees.
A bird feeder below a branch.
Sumac cones above the garden shed.
Moments later, smoke floats
over the neighbour’s house,
wispy white on violet blue.
Then a crow caws. A chickadee
flies to the feeder. Juncos gather
on the ground. Peck. Peck. Peck.
The cats stretch, stomachs full.
The dog opens an eye, yawns, and
tucks his nose under a paw.
Without fanfare, the sun scales
the horizon and washes the sky
with a ripe melon orange.
I rise and start the coffee.

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