At dawn I watch as all is suspended in sleep.
Grass frozen in nocturnal rigor mortis and speckled with dew,
and Trees unswaying, encased in bark still counting sheep.
Animals wake but the plants rest ice blue.
Here a squirrel tiptoes up a trunk so as not to wake the grass.
Here a swallow dips and dives, skirting down the avenue.
A branch cracks and so the chorus starts:
Birds breach their song-fast and open their throats...
now! the Oak and the Beech and the Ash
shrug the sleep from their limbs, slip out of their foggy cloaks-
shhhhhhhhhhh-
tickling the morning breeze awoke.
