Dawn

Dawn peeks over the mountains to the east and paints the western slopes with gold. Tall pines wash their bristly hair in the warmth and the canyons yawn a great good morning. Autumn rains will be welcome and will turn the air leaden with moisture. Sap will flow downward and then nestle in winter's cold storage. The creatures who rush about now will burrow deep and slumber. My lights will burn brightly in the night as I bend over clay and the music holds back the dark.