~Morning
Coffee 
~
It was passed on to me from my Mother,
This quiet time.
When Nature is stretching her morning muscles
And gentle yawns blow across my cup,
Teasing my coffee steam into wispy pretzel hats.
Dawn looks pinkfully precious
Soft and quiet; Her approach
Like hallowed fluffy snowflakes
Falling in whispers on evergreen boughs.
Such is the time of my morning muse.
When I gratefully understand
What my Mother shared
With each sacred morning reflection.
I stir the stew of yesteryear
And things that are.
When fragile memories boil to the top
Bursting suddenly into bright awareness.
At once I am nine,
Running barefoot through
The summer hills of Gallia.
But also I'm standing in today,
Feeling the tug of schedules and work.
My mind mends these pieces
Into my own special quilt of experience,
Worn on the edges but soft from constant use.
I smile as I wrap myself in it...
And smell the aroma of life
Mixed with my morning coffee.
MEBH/@Copyright 10-97
