Day enters, the birds have yet to wake.

Outside, settling in beside stone and succulent,

greetings begin.

First, to the distant trees.

My, they have much to say

and they know what it is to hold it

in silence.

To the white faces of flowers, turned up

towards a sky leaning in,

I whisper hello.

Hummingbird swoops through the half-dark.

Surprising to see her beside me on a branch

this early.

Are you here for poetry?

It seems to be so.

Owl hasn’t stepped into dreaming,

and he calls, and calls, and calls…