Sit-a-while
on swinging porch
where tin-dippers and
sweet water
in cool touches
meet lips
from hand dug wells.

Good morning good people!

Prague, blackdrops and bridges, missiles bursting, tumbling through receptors needing caffeine ignored by blue-white risings over the mountains, the oldest mountains.

Afraid to bud, trees stand tall in still wind. Birds sing and tweet harmlessly, old harmonies as the groundhog grows invisible in stillness; darting a few feet and invisible again.

A chill air clears smoke in Damascus, wondering why...

"the coffee cup, i think about you."

G-hog darts again, eating from a platter washed by the white-tipped brook talking to me below.

This chill cleans the night's fright; foolishly, a thought comes of capturing this good wind and pouring it into courtroom windows of the world.

May this wind steam from your morning cup, friends, giving rise to a beautiful day.

“A day spent without the sight or sound of beauty, the contemplation of mystery, or the search of truth is a poverty-stricken day; and a succession of such days is fatal to human life.”
~ Lewis Mumford

The stage is yours!