Here where I am

Buried beneath linen and down, this morning I slowly stirred into dawn’s conscious realm while rain’s symphony began. And, since I was in no hurry to slither-out into a cold bother, I pulled open the curtain, then nestled back into a deep burrow of warmth to enjoy the opus.

I love the moment of pre-dawn when all is still, especially when I can hear the rhythm of the rain lightly tap her long fingers against the glass, and watch the blood-orange of a new day emerge. It seems that Mr. Night was busy while I slept and was not willing to give-up so easily, his reign. He covered the mountains with a cold wave of his wand as he danced around the trees in silence, and was not quite ready to pass the torch.

But when Ms. Dawn finally removed her gloves, Mr. Night acquiesced, took his bow into the light of day, and as he does every morning, disappeared reluctantly.

I watched out the window at the trees on the mountain and the fog lingering there, when a smile crossed my lips. As I looked through the windowpane I caught a sliver of morning’s dew, just where, in attestation, Mr. Night left his shivering signature behind. “I’ll be back later”, he seemed to say, and I, in response, murmured, “I’ll be waiting, here where I am.”