(haibun)
If I am awakened before dawn, I love to go downstairs, open the windows, sit on the couch in the living room, sip my coffee, drink in the morning sky over the forest beyond the pond, and listen to the song of the mourning dove. Intermittent, cadenced. The poignant, low-keyed notes match my mood in the darkness as I face the world. I try to remember what transpired earlier in my life, from its beginning, up to the moment I fell asleep the night before. I recall my motivation for continuing, where I left off, in the creation of the story of my existence. I watch through the picture window and contemplate. I recall past mistakes. Then gratitude. Then courage, to start anew.
Dawn breaks over the unfolding scene revealed by the rising
sun, and dawn breaks into and pours over my soul.
a mourning dove dawn
measure out unfolding
joy
with sunbeam
yardstick
I feel I can measure the depths of my growing joy with the increasing sunlight; and by keeping time, in the steady music of the bird's coos, my possibilities blossom. I get up and start my day, refreshed and ready.
