And I hear in the morning
The sound of my little girl
Calling out
Because she’s cold
Because her blanket
Slipped off the bed
And I find it on the floor
And cover her
As she curls up
Almost hugging herself
And she drifts off again
And I make my way to the spot
Where each day begins
And I’m thankful for it
For the soft chair where I sit
And the warm light from the lamp
And I hear in the house
The low hum of the fan
And the refrigerator
And I hear the sound of paper
Sliding over paper
As I turn the page in
Whatever book I’m reading
Today, Leaves of Grass
And outside, occasionally
I hear a distant car
Or the tiny feet of squirrels
Racing over our roof
Or the beautiful, high pitched calls
Of the birds
Somewhere up and away
In the branches of
Our tall oak trees
Each sound is its own part
Of the early morning quiet
That I love
The little bit of time
Where I can just be
As the sun begins to rise
Before the day feels
Entirely awake