A Sleepy Morning

 A Sleepy Morning

The sun rises slowly in the dark, eastern wood.

He pours his muted gold through small breaks in the green.

A sleepy wind barely bestirs the maple trees.

And even the tall cottonwood shows just a flicker of leaves.

Our bird feeders, most always a scene of high activity,

Hang quietly with the birds’ rare passivity.

With the birds today seeming to sleep-in,

Only the squirrels chase each other with vigor and vim,

And finally a hummingbird buzzes himself in.