Tuesday, May 25, 2010


Good Morning!

I tend to be an early riser since childhood when Mom called us from our beds to work in the garden. We were pretty young and it seemed cruel at the time, but I don't think we were very well off and the garden work guaranteed a larger food supply - and kept us busy so we didn't get into too much mischief as the day wore on. Once we finished our hour pulling weeds in the garden, we often were given pails and dishes to go out and pick strawberries, black raspberries or gooseberries in the fence rows.

Later in the summer, we walked up to the mountainside across the valley and picked blueberries in 12-quart zinc-lined pails in an area where a fire had denuded a miles-wide swath of forest. When we got home the next thing was to pick all the little branches and bugs out of our harvest so it could be frozen for pies and cobblers during the coming winter.

There were always things to do on the farm, and usually those things involved getting up early, so it wasn't so hard to do the same when I went to the city and worked for a living. Writing for the newspaper was both the easiest and the most difficult. I had to go to the office at 6 a.m. in order to make deadline at 9 o'clock! (Even if I had attended an important meeting that lasted until midnight.)

Now I am retired and still find the urge to wake early and write, which I do, although I admit I sometimes lie lie in bed and listen to the birds celebrating the break of day.

All that said, I wish you a glorious day. Keep on the sunny side! Terry

AM

I’d nearly forgotten how good morning could taste,
There are birds out there, celebrating – or gossiping!
Or, maybe they just tend to business straightaway
So the rest of their day is free.
To fly would certainly make me lose my concentration!
Hey! Maybe they have the idea they can
Hustle the sun up sooner or something.
But the sun moves by its own lights.
See how gently it handles spring
Coaxing each leaf to unfurl its banner –
Green canap├ęs and coupolas for spring.

It did rain, but it isn’t now.
The car tires schlusch through the puddles --
Where red maple flowers float through the night --
First one, then more,
Armored for the day in steel on rubber wheels.
Well, I still have time for my rich black cup,
To smell its hot perfume,
and watch the morning waken up –
I had nearly forgotten how good it could taste.

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