I wake early in the morning,
sitting up slowly in my tent
with my sleeping bag bunched
around me. Awoken by scent.
Hugging all my warmth to me,
I stick my head out the flap
of my tent and listen to the
water's distant gentle slap
against the shore. Breathing
deeply I inhale the new day:
the smells of the fir trees
and fresh air bid me to wake.
A mossy boulder shyly invites
me to watch the breeze play -
blowing wrinkles across the
glassy lake's peaceful face.
Mornings in the wilderness
are a gift I'd never trade,
for the air reeks of magic
and the smell never fades.
This one sings to me
ReplyDelete