Dawn comes revealing a stone gray
winter morning.
The oak tree still sleeps,
streets glisten from soft rain
in the darkness hours.
All is quiet.
Remarkably still.
Somber clouds drift low,
offering to wrap all the waking in
fluffy blankets.
There is something
fearfully beautiful about serenity.
From a wet gardenia leaf,
a hummingbird, tiny gray missile,
flashes across the stillness.
Inevitable.
Mysterious moments are meant
to be held delicately
but briefly.
A bark echoes in the distance.
The coyote stretches
in her shelter
and sends a greeting into
the morning air.
I am here.
Shining Spirit 
Lovely. Thanks for sharing your poetry, Roger.
This is so beautiful. Our days for having this experience are so limited here. Good perhaps – but I do miss the bleaker, quieter experience of ypur poem. Thank you. Lynne
Roger, your beautiful poetry….musings….remind me of some lines from other famous poets
How sweet I roam’d from field to field,
And tasted all the summer’s pride….(William Blake)
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze……(William Wordsworth)
I pray that you will have a Blessed Christmas and know that I still miss you.
Warmest Christmas Greetings,
Jim