Jul 2018
Being in first light
I can see lamps lit
and the clouds strewn across the gray dawn.
From the east
the sun whispers greetings
of the new day.
Being in first light
I wonder what faces I will see for the first time
whose hand I will see reaching out to mine
that first grip always telling me something
about the gripper
making me curious
about him and his world.
Being in first light
the western horizon is still dark
its terrain unknown.
What adventures will reveal themselves
and beckon me beyond the barriers
of my comfortable world
as the sun rises?
Being in first light
neither foreground or background
are fully visible yet.
This state of mystery
gives me a tingle of excitement
and wonder.
I think I like
this moment
of first light.
Written at first light 7-20-18
I can see lamps lit
and the clouds strewn across the gray dawn.
From the east
the sun whispers greetings
of the new day.
Being in first light
I wonder what faces I will see for the first time
whose hand I will see reaching out to mine
that first grip always telling me something
about the gripper
making me curious
about him and his world.
Being in first light
the western horizon is still dark
its terrain unknown.
What adventures will reveal themselves
and beckon me beyond the barriers
of my comfortable world
as the sun rises?
Being in first light
neither foreground or background
are fully visible yet.
This state of mystery
gives me a tingle of excitement
and wonder.
I think I like
this moment
of first light.
Written at first light 7-20-18
As I began this poem it was indeed first light seen through floor-to-ceiling windows from high in a hotel placed kindly on the Oklahoma USA countryside. As I wrote I thought of a new group I am joining, not knowing personally anyone in it, wondering who and what it will reveal to me as the sun rises.
