The first winged utterance,
Beckons me awake.
Full cacophony follows,
And the night does break.

The smell of stillness lifted.
Mobile creatures stir.
Fading in of embers.
Distance swathed in blur.

Futile night retreateth.
Welcomed warmth ensues.
Filtered by a newborn breeze,
Cooling mornings' dews.

The reluctant mist...it rises.
Hastily...oh so slow.
Lingering in the moment,
As if sad the last did go.

And, oh!, to hold an hourglass,
To halt the marching hour.
And take note of every miracle,
Unfolding in its' power.