Shadows tumble slowly into mountain crevasses, welcoming dawn.
Dandelions play ring-around-the rosie, rivaling the sunrise.
An egret sits in stillness at the edge of velvet water, waiting.
An old lady plods out to her driveway to retrieve the daily news–
Silver hair, disheveled, highlights grinning eyes, welcomes another day.
The dogs roll with abandonment in dew-covered grass, sharing her bliss.
I head homeward, planning my day, as though there will be no surprises.
Written for dVerse Poets Open Link Night where poetry and friendship abound. Check us out and, if you like, bring a poem of your own.
Photo: zzyppy.com Sunrise in the California Desert
And they gave us this one: Here’s a third prompt for those of you who like to get ahead of the curve. This one is adapted from Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones, a book my parents gave me when I was 14 or so and they noticed I was constantly scribbling things down. So here goes: Cesar Vallejo wrote a pretty famous poem that begins with him saying that he will die in Paris, in the rain, on a Thursday (different translations from the Spanish make it hard to quote precisely in English). So go ahead and write a poem predicting your own death — at night in Omaha at the Shell Station, in an underwater Mexican grotto after a dry spell. It’s less morbid than you think!