The hours before dawn are as much a territory as moments in time Alone in a darkened world listening to sounds the morning shares with me and I alone A rustle of a small creature settling more comfortably in its bed beneath frozen branches within a pine-straw burrow The creak of ice-burdened limbs high in the loblolly pines The crack of ice breaking loose to land on frozen deck like an echo of a rifle shot from many years ago The pecking of small pellets of sleet upon my glazed blue tin roof with dragon's teeth icicles hanging above my head This is my territory and my hours before the dawn