Shaking limbs free of cobwebs,
Stretching, arriving at the window,
I'm breathing deeply at dawn.
Sun edging tree-topped horizon
Casts golden tints upon wispy clouds,
Decorating the blueness of sky,
As an artist's strokes brush canvas.
Breathing out, long and slow, I notice
There's no shimmer yet on the lake,
Streaking toward the inn on the hill,
Beckoning me into the new day.
I see it when I close my eyes;
It's coming, as it does morns such as this.
Breathing deeply, in and out, again,
I feel the promise of peace within.
In response to the artwork of Michael Coleman.
