Ode to Vermont Morning

I rise from my cabin bunk
and amble to the end of
the dirt path which opens
out onto the still water.
As the sun begins to rise
It catches hold of the bitty
Wakes that the wind conjures up.

Sitting in silence here
Provides me with the best advice:
“Sit, listen, and be still. You are nowhere
and it’s now.” It feels as
though there is a sage perched
on the rocks next to me.

The fiery orb climbs higher in
the East as life begins to
stir on the muddy shores.
A boy paddles out into the middle
in a green canoe, his vivid
life vest a sharp contrast
to the Earth tones around him.

Unwillingly I glance at my wrist watch.
wary of the approaching hour
that will be joined by the piercing
sound of the morning bugle.
Reveille sounds the end of my meditation,
But there are plenty more mornings to come.
By Morgan Dysinger