I yearn for the pre-dawn, this steamy night; I yearn for the hush, that momentary moment of quiet between gray-scale and the rosy fingers of dawn, slipping over the horizon.
The chickadee chirps his mating call, "Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe" and he finds a mating call returned. "Chickadee dee dee dee". The robin stands so proud and tall, as it listens for worms as the pre-dawn slides into dawn.
Some mornings, I peek out the window, letting in the cool, cool air after a pea-soup afternoon of smoggy, thick, green air and a steamy night in this early summer heat wave.
The dawn beckons me, calls me to her side; she welcomes me to her world – her world is the world of new beginnings, where every morning is brand new, pink and cool, like a tulip opening for the first time, like a baby smiling for the first time, like the first moment a lover's lips touch.
I yearn for the pre-dawn, this steamy night; I yearn for the hush, that momentary moment of quiet between gray-scale and dawn's cool promise.
As I settle down to sleep this steamy night, I only hope to find dawn's promise tomorrow when I look out my window, as the cool, cool air washes over me.