The hush of the morning breeze whispers through aged pines The rush of tires on asphalt As an unseen car moves an unseen driver Closer to the start, or end I guess, of a workday
Meow
The birds begin to wake Softly at first Then, as more and more of them awaken The chorus grows louder and louder Filling the near stillness with a multitude of calls
Meow, meow
A squirrel scurries in fits and starts Across the shingle roof outside my window An acorn, not yet ripe falls from the oak out front And hits the slate walk Heard this morning where as the sound would pass unnoticed later in the day